The Machine
by Vespaer
Summary: "Force users, they're so arrogant. They think this war is all about them." Rey and Kylo Ren: two halves of the same protagonist. But if they're both right, then who is wrong? What if the face of true evil wears an entirely different kind of mask? What if it's something with impossibly deep roots - a corruption so insidious, it could hide itself in plain sight? Can they fight it?
1. Ch 1: Destruction and Profit

Hi guys! It's been AGES since I posted, like, anything. I've been writing and playing music as my primary creative outlet (check out facebook clearlyguilty), but since The Last Jedi came out into theaters... I couldn't keep to myself. My time to write is still pretty limited, but I couldn't keep this one down. I have the first five chapters written and I have a healthy start into chapter six, but I will be editing and posting over the next few days, and as I have a concise ending for this tale I plan to see it all the way through.

This all got started while reading about the new films on reddit a bit. I've seen a lot of hate about the Canto Bight scenes, about how they're generally considered a waste of time, film, and space. Personally, I thought they were very important, and made for a very interesting allegory with regards to the current political atmosphere in our own time and galaxy. It made their war and their struggles suddenly very relatable. But I saw one reddit poster posit something far more literal and I found it rather compelling - what if they were THE most important scenes in the whole saga? What if we're duped into believing we're going into Episode IX with Kylo Ren as the main antagonist when the true evil is something far more insidious. What if it's simply... the First Order itself? Like, the very concept behind it? What if the real evil here is the military industrial complex and the greed that drives it, sending hapless innocents to their dooms, and this is the base impetus that stoked the fires of war again after thirty years of peace? Of course, we know Star Wars is just a fantasy - just a fairy tale - so seeing very cerebral, adult concepts like these flying over the heads of our kids is not something that's going to ever happen in your ordinary, average small town movie theater. I assure you as well, that poor unfortunate redditor was promptly poo-pooed for the very idea, in spite of the merit I felt it held.

But that's what fan fic is for. So, I give you The Machine (named, of course, from the dialogue in the Canto Bight scenes themselves).

 **The Machine Ch 1: Destruction and Profit**

General Hux seated himself at the head of the long board room table, facing the parade of military personnel and advisory staff that filed in behind him. There was a quiet yet purposeful rustle of leather and cloth as they took their seats and accessed the datapads in front of them. It was a simple budget, and this was a simple meeting. Wars required budgets and meetings. He used to plan them at Snoke's insistence, and never without his presence. They had typically been conducted in Kylo Ren's absence, the young apprentice more involved in training than day-to-day logistics. Hux now conducted them in Supreme Leader Ren's ignorance. It was for the good of all involved. The last thing anyone needed was an embarrassing tantrum that resulted in the table being sliced in half by a red hot laser blade... or stars forbid someone force-choked and tossed out an airlock. There was no reason some measure of civility couldn't be afforded even the grim business of war.

Hux allowed himself a small, indulgent moment of calm as he ran his hand along the surface of the table, savoring the feel of the velvety black lacquer coating the expensive wood finish. In contrast to the sweat that beaded at his stiffly starched collar the surface was cool, even through the fabric of his fine, sleen-hide glove. He sighed, uncomfortably aware of how his undershirt wetly stuck to the skin of his back. It wasn't particularly warm. It was that he now had to inform the shadowy cadre of unseen Trade Federation shareholders that Snoke - most recently their greatest and most reliable source of revenue - had been murdered by some... unknown scavenger girl. Or more likely Kylo Ren, his own protege. Hux was only one generation of a long and respected military family. He was hardly naive about how the dark side of the Force worked. It didn't matter - either way, the wrench had been thrown in the works, and the conversation was still going to be the same. Resigned to get down to business, he fired up the screen of his own datapad, and then the holoprojector in the center of the table sprung to life.

Immediately they were greeted by the familiar form of a sallow, sunken-cheeked young man in a nondescript suit. The man had no name, and was only known as the Representative, speaking for the broad, looming, toad-faced expanse of a Hutt lounging on an opulent dais behind him. Jantho the Hutt's moist eyes and skin gleamed faintly in the low light, and his chins were set to quiver as the maw of his face split open and spewed forth his booming speech.

Jantho knew Hux understood some Huttese. Hux also knew Jantho spoke common. But doing so would no longer necessitate the hedonistic display of dressing up a beleaguered slave in a suit to translate the transactions and details and minutia that likely resulted in the destruction of his own homeworld... and many others. Moments after Jantho started speaking, the Representative - sullen, vacant, and monotone - began to convey the message.

"His excellency, Jantho of the Three Families, bids you good morning," he said. As time in space was relative, and the newly crowned Vindicator was still hovering in empty space not far from where she launched, it seemed only polite to defer to the Hutt's point of view. "We trust that you are enjoying Kuat-Entralla's finest, and that you received the invoice." He was referring to the Vindicator herself - their new flagship dreadnought, requisitioned and outfitted some months ago to replace the ill-fated Supremacy.

"The craftsmanship is exquisite, but of course we expected nothing less," Hux answered, gently stroking the table as a gesture. The words were formal, but not hollow. Kuat-Entralla was renowned throughout the quadrant for quality. They were also just as well known as being one more in a series of different engineering and manufacturing firms owned either outright by the Hutt Cartel, or by some other equally amorphous shareholder that comprised the old Trade Federation of legend.

"Splendid," Jantho replied. "To commemorate her auspicious launch, I'll be sure to have one of my bookkeeping staff send a bottle of - "

The Representative gave an uncharacteristic jerk of the head, indicating surprise. Jantho had changed the subject mid-sentence. Hux knew where this was headed. He supressed an icy chill automatically, out of reflex. Countless times he'd bodily prepared himself to have some appendage crushed by an unseen force, or to have his face smashed against a wall or a floor, even one time a ceiling. Although he knew this would be different, it didn't mean that there weren't various types of absolute power... and that they were all equally terrifying.

"Where... is Snoke?"

Jantho's question hung heavy in the air. Hux wetted his lips and blinked rapidly. Change was risk. Finance abhorred risk.

"I apologize, your excellency, I should have informed you immediately, it's just that we were indispo-"

"Informed me of what?" The Huttese behind the Representative's mewling speech echoed throughout the room.

"It would appear, my lord, that Supreme Leader Snoke has been... murdered."

"Yesss..." Jantho hissed in heavily accented common behind his slave. The Representative remained silent and merely bowed his head. "Eeet woooould appearrrr sooooo. Whoooo hasssss replayyyy-suhd heem at yoourrr helmm?"

Hux, a soldier first and a man of principals and ideals, squared his shoulders and straightened his spine.

"Kylo Ren," he answered.

Hux had suffered much abuse at the hands of power in his life but had survived it. He was no coward. He was ready to face the consequences. Which was what made the Hutt's monstrous, thunderous laughter so surprising.

"Han Solo's whelp?! Chaos!" the Representative had raised his head and continued as the form of Jantho behind him jiggled and shook. "Complete chaos! I love the sound of the word! Do you know what chaos is, General Hux?"

There were a million ways Hux wanted to answer that question, but none of them would have been appropriate. And he'd already heard the answer before. It would be one of the usual four diatribes. But sometimes it was best with powerful people to just drum your fingers on the table and patiently wait out the usual assault of sage, wistful nonsense.

"No, my lord." He folded his hands behind his back, instead.

"Chaos," the Representative answered, "is a machine." Oh yes, this one again. The Machiiiine. Everything was a machine: war was a machine, economics was a machine, machines were a machine. Hux settled in for the wait. "Force users, they're so arrogant, they think this is all about them. Their light side, their dark side... their prophecy... But men like us, General Hux," Hux wasn't sure he was comfortable with the comparison, "men like us know better. They are one wheel, yes - one that sets the others into motion. Into war! But chaos is a steamroller that crushes its way forward. Turning over and over in a cycle between destruction and profit. How many decades of peace... PAH! Who makes money off of peace? Landowners? Politicians? Drug lords and spice traders? Where was the military industrial complex? Where were you, General Hux?"

"Well, sir, I was only-"

"Where were your generals? Licking the wounds of your leaders' regrettable and... _expensive_ Imperial defeat? Until we came along and bought you like the chattel you are. Snoke was an advantageous investment, but Kylo Ren..." Jantho barked one laugh before his scaly tongue darted out and slathered a slimy sheen across his wormy lips. "Hell hath no fury like a child scorned. He is far too capricious to follow his grandfather's footsteps. He wishes to burn everything in his path. Let us see how he serves. We shall watch and... reserve judgment. Now, General Hux, you will tell me of your plan to pay for your newfound debt. Delight me with your plan for further conquest!"

Hux nodded once, and was grateful to the Makers above to be able to move on into safer, more well-rehearsed territory. Even as the words tumbled from his mouth, and the pads on the table filled the air with hums and beeps, he knew he was facing another sleepless night. He was a pawn, crushed between a rock and a hard place - between the Force and an endlessly insatiable cycle of greed. If he played his cards right, though, he could end up with more than simply being allowed to survive. He could end up with power himself. But the Hutt was right about Ren - the boy was as unpredictable as he was a menace. There was no limit to the potential for utter annihilation through his famous wanton mania. The problem was that his sword swung both ways, and ashes were still ashes regardless of what side they landed on... and Hux wasn't entirely keen on being the king of a pile of ashes. And Ren wanted to see everything burn.

Hux decided he would make use of his insomnia, then. He would begin to make his contingency plans. All he had to do was be careful. And patient.


	2. Ch 2: Yelllow

_Author's note: Some stuff in here is taken from the Bloodlines novel which I admit I haven't read yet... but I've read a lot posted by folks who have read it. I'll get there, just my time is limited is all =)_

 **The Machine Ch2: Yellow**

Yellow. If Rey could sum up her life, sitting there in that moment, she would have said, "Yellow." That's it. One word. Yellow.

Yellow were the sands of Jakku. Yellow were the eyes, teeth, and fingernails of Unkar Plutt, as he reached for her collar, shook her, called her "useless," and growled out his orders. Yellow were all the stars she zipped past in her relentless evasion of the First Order. Yellow were the lights of the auxiliary systems console in the copilot's seat on the Millennium Falcon. Yellow were the brittle and tattered pages of the ancient Jedi texts Rey had smuggled away when Master Luke's attention had been... divided.

And yellow was the sky where she sat on Arturo 24, completely swallowed by the visage of the colossal gas giant she circled. Tidally locked in orbit with the planet, yellow was all they ever saw there. It was soft, dim, and ethereal, but it was constant. Rey had lost all sense of time. As such, she was too exhausted to meditate, and the fever pitch of her emotions would not allow her to sleep. And outside of the terribly infrequent event of an eclipse, it was never dark. She found the irony just so thoroughly disgusting that now - _now_ \- she longed for the dark. Sometimes the universe was just truly cruel.

She shifted uncomfortably on the jagged outcrop of rock where she sat, trying to find a position that kept the razor sharp edges from jabbing into her sit bones, or snagging holes in her last good pair of pants. The ground was nothing more than volcanic rock, produced by tectonic forces but never smoothed into rounder shapes by erosion or any other process that required an atmosphere. In spite of this, the moon had once been an affluent mining colony. Rose knew someone whose grandfather was once sent to work there. Arturo, while technically a jovial planet, was much like a small sun, which seemed odd when juxtaposed in the sky with the actual star that held them all in its gravitational plane. The star was far enough away it seemed like another moon, albeit a very bright one. But at some point in the past, Arturo's turbulent conveyor belts had produced a storm strong enough to unleash a flare of radiation that had rendered the mining colony - nothing more than an artificial biodome carved into the otherwise lifeless hunk of raw materials and resources - unsafe. The workers had abandoned the site, leaving behind a small contingent of droids to clean up the mess, and sanitize and maintain the property. After that, it was either forgotten, unneeded, or the First Order hadn't discovered it yet. As it was, the place was scarcely a blip on the radar, and came complete with a virtually untapped reservoir of unrefined fuel and power. The strong gravitational pull of the planet made it difficult to get a signal out, but that same pull also kept them safe from detection. At any point a small scout ship could leave orbit to conduct whatever communications they required, while also presenting itself a moving target if sighted. It wasn't an ideal situation... but it certainly wasn't the worst.

Unless of course you liked sleep. Or meditation. Or comfort. Or things like a sky with air, or dirt or plants or... or colors that weren't yellow.

"Dammit," she grumbled, keeping her eyes pinched shut, determined to center her psyche as she leaned right to dig something stabby out from beneath her, but she found absolutely zero focus. She sighed in... she didn't know. Something that should have felt like defeat, but just didn't. The Jedi texts said she was wrong, a loss of focus was absolutely defeat, but she didn't feel wrong. The Jedi texts said she should achieve inner peace through temperament - through identifying, compartmentalizing, and ultimately abolishing her emotions. The Jedi texts told her that the loss of control over one's emotions was the path that lead to the dark side. And some of that was clearly evident in Ky... him. Just him. He was a searing ball of negative emotions, that one. But... what about the emotions she needed? Today, in particular? What about love and compassion? What about sympathy or sentimentality... even grief? Even guilt? Didn't these have uses? The Jedi texts stated that even emotions that seem positive can still carry a strong undercurrent - a seduction that can still turn one toward "unintended destructive behaviors." But Master Luke also said that the Jedi were wrong. He said their methods had failed them, and that they had died as a result.

And now the future was hers.

It was impossible to find any semblance of peace. Her mind was a whirlwind, spiralling out of control to dizzying heights, then crashing down again into oblivion like everything else around her every time she closed her eyes... and saw yellow. Soft, dim, ethereal yellow light, glowing behind her eyelids. Yellow like Jakku. Yellow like the stars.

Yellow like the Jedi texts... and the decisions she faced alone which would determine the future of the entire Jedi Order.

Yellow like General Leia Organa's jaundiced skin as she lay dying, leaving the Resistance alone to make their own decisions.

What was the correct way to proceed? What was... right? What if they made mistakes - disastrous ones? They were all just... children, weren't they? Were they ready? It didn't matter, they had no choice. There was no one else, and time wasn't going to just start marching forward without them. Maybe the Sith were right. Maybe peace was a lie... or maybe more like an unobtainable goal. If she acknowledged that as truth, did that make her a Sith? She didn't feel like a Sith... but she didn't feel like a Jedi either. She didn't feel like anything at all. Or anyone.

 _You come from nothing. You're nothing_. She opened her eyes and rose, staring off beyond the dome where obsidian reflected the buttery yellow horizon. _But not to me_. While his words may not have been an intentional attempt to isolate her or subvert her agency, they were still foolish. She didn't have to carry the Skywalker name to know that the Universe, or Fate, or the Force or whatever certainly didn't think she was nobody. And she was far, far from alone. In fact, for someone who, up until this point, had spent the majority of her life living by herself inside the shell of a burnt out AT-AT drive core casing half buried in an out-world desert, she sometimes felt a little smothered by her newfound un-alone-ness.

Her new family.

Which was shrinking by the day, it seemed. And today, it would shrink by one more. Which made her think again of Ky... him. Did he know his mother had initially survived his attempt to blast her into empty space? Did he know that that simple act of survival had taken a toll so great on her major organ systems that it had now become too heavy for her to bear? Could he feel her life force slowly ebbing from her the moment they'd yanked her back on board their ship? Finn and Poe had spared no detail when they'd told her the tale. She pictured Ky... his hand - the same fingers that had taken her own so gently by the fire on Ahch-To - pulling the trigger to send his own mother to her doom. The same hand that had once ignited a lightsaber and impaled his own father. Was that why he'd said what he said to her? Was he projecting his own feelings onto her? His own desolation - his own uncertainty? Of course he was. That's what the dark side does, it's in their nature. But what was he grasping for? A grapple hold to latch onto? To suck her in? For what purpose, other than to just have someone else to be miserable with? These were questions with answers that probably weren't what she thought they were, and nothing she wanted to think on any further lest she wanted his face to spontaneously pop up out of nowhere again against her will, like he'd done countless times before... before she naively chose to see the best in him. And he'd failed her like he's failed everyone else.

"Next time a man admits he's a monster," she told herself out loud, "you should just believe him." But just like yellow Jedi texts, or some juvenile and impractical concept of peace, she knew her words were probably false. The truth was a lot more complicated than what lie on the surface.

Giving up on serenity, or even a good night's sleep or a healthy appetite, she stalked back past the buzzing shield generators and percolating atmospheric scrubbers to return to the interior of the base. There was a tickle up her spine where her neck met her shoulders, from what she could only assume was the Force, that told her Leia would not make it through the night. She was ill-equipped to handle so much death so quickly. For someone who was just beginning to learn how to live in a galaxy so full of newly discovered lives, to see how quickly and so unfairly they could be ripped away... it was still a punch to the gut. But she had to see it, had to face it. Had to learn from it. She had to earn the knowledge and experiences and memories if ever she was to pass them down.

And she had to say goodbye to her dearest friend. So soon. Too soon.

The base was as quiet as a tomb, the specter of their own mortality hanging over them like a heavy fog coupled with a cloud of defeat. Rey instinctively softened her footfalls and looked over them all as she passed through the main interior corridor, counting their greatly diminished number. The handful of people who had volunteered to take the night watch sat at cold metal tables still as headstones, their sullen, unblinking stares reflected in the dim yellow light of their equipment. Most of the rest had found cots or sleeping pallets on the floor, their shoulders hunched and blankets pulled tight as they begged for their dreams to leave them. Two sat wordlessly at another table, prodding at steaming liquid in tin cups with some uniform piece of utilitarian cutlery. One of them was Poe Dameron, the other was Commander D'Acy. Eyes red with sadness and an unfulfilled need for sleep, Poe nodded a small greeting to her before dialing up a screen on his own datapad and jotting down a few more talking points for the next day's agenda.

The tunnels that lead deeper into the complex were carved from bare stone, and overlaid with tubes carrying wiring, fiber optics, interior plumbing, and emergency fire suppression systems. Every four paces was a yellow light that caused the stone to glisten with the forcibly imposed humidity. The air grew cooler the deeper they got, causing condensation to collect on the walls and in small channels that ran the length of the walkway, directing the water to an underground processing plant to be recycled and reused. It was a shame the moon was so lifeless - the systems there were genius. It drew an ugly parallel to its erstwhile, and likely temporary, inhabitants. She came to an abrupt halt before the entry to Leia's chamber. She chewed at her lip a bit while she tried to collect herself the way a Jedi would. The way Leia's brother would. She shook her head in failure and mashed the heels of her palms into her eyes to chase away the tears already forming there.

"There needs to be love in the world," she mumbled to herself, around the knot in her throat. "We need to show it. People need to know they matter. To hell with the Jedi."

She straightened her shoulders and opened the door. Inside she found Rose drawing a blanket over her stalwart lover, Finn, who had sat with Leia for as long as he could before sleep claimed him. Rey smiled at the softly snoring outline of her best friend in the dark. Finn knew her in ways that many could never understand, not unless one were an orphan either stolen, lost, or abandoned, and trapped in a set of circumstances that prevented one from ever knowing what it was like to truly be alive. To ever feel rain, or joy, or friendship, or freedom. She thanked the stars for Finn. And she thanked the stars for Rose, as she exchanged glances with the small woman who came into their lives and decided to freely give the best of herself to Finn with no expectations, and show him the kind of love most of them had never known but had only really ever read about in stories. Rey gave Rose's shoulder a gentle squeeze as she left the room to return a pair of tin cups to the mess. Leia may be leaving them, but there would be still love in the world.

Unwilling to disturb her resting friend, Rey opted to cross her ankles and sink to the floor beside Leia's cot, taking the woman's hand into her own. It felt so small and so frail for such a huge figure in her life. She briefly wondered if someday someone else would think the same thing about her own hand. Although her skin was cold, it still bore the faint pulse of life. Rey tenderly tucked the blanket closer around her, over her shoulders and under her chin. The sweet ministration woke her. Her dark eyes shone in the low light from the hall.

"I..." Leia started but coughed. Rey opened her mouth to beg her to stop and save her strength, but she knew it was too late now. Sharing words was more important. It was all they had left. "Is everyone is settling in okay? I know there's not much- "

"I'm so sorry," Rey interrupted, unable to conceal her emotions any longer, now faced with the very thing that was stoking their fire. "You deserve better than... this. You deserve proper medical treatment instead of this, this, this... " She flailed an arm around in frustration.

"It's not about what I deserve, girl, it's about what I want," Leia answered in whispers, reclaiming Rey's hand in her own. Rey licked the tears from her upper lip as she listened. "We both know there's nothing anyone can do, they already did their best. My time has been borrowed since we made our way to Crait. For me to come to the surface now in some hospital kolto tank would not only be useless, it would be dangerous for the people I cherish. I would rather die than risk you."

"But we need- "

"You have everything you need here," Leia gave her hand a weak pat. "My brother told me so, and I believe him. You do still believe him, don't you?"

"Yes..."

"Good, because he's right. You can do this. And don't you worry about me. Luke is waiting for me, with open arms. And my father. I'm not afraid, and I'm not afraid for you either. I'm surrounded by nearly everyone I've ever loved in my life. I'm right where I should be."

Nearly everyone. Except all of the people they'd lost over Crait.

Except Han.

And... him. Just him.

Her free hand tightened into a white hot fist. Her jaw clenched in a flare of rage, and her insides churned with bitterness.

"I'm failing you, Leia," she confessed suddenly, and with enough force she feared she might have woken Finn. "I'm failing you, I'm failing Luke, and I'm failing the Jedi. I'm just so... so angry. I'm angry all the time at, at, at..." his name rose like bile in her throat, "at your son! Because of him, we've lost almost everything! Because of him we still have this, this... stupid war! He could have stopped it! He had a choice, right there - right in front of him - and he _chose_ not to! And because of him we're losing you."

"Rey, this is your first war, but it isn't mine. War has a particular... philosophy. He's just on the other side of it is all. We all fought hard, and we have a lot to be proud of. He just won this time."

Rey jerked around to face her in disbelief. "How can you just... just say th- how can you just boil it down to that- "

"Because I'm not giving up, Rey." She gave her hand a squeeze. "You will regroup, you will rebuild, and you will fight back. Snoke is only one man. If he falls, the disarray would give you the chance to- "

"Oh stars, I would give anything for that to be true," Rey sobbed hopelessly, "But look at what happened when Snoke died? Ky... your son, he just... he just- "

"Wait, what- "

"He just decided take his place instead, and now he's just... he's..." The betrayal still stung - it was a wound struck even harder with her own gullibility. "I don't understand - he shot you! He shot out the entire bridge of your ship, killing everyone - he tried to murder you!"

The tendons in the General's neck pulled as she tried to sit up, but only found the strength to make it halfway. "Ben wasn't the one who destroyed the bridge on the ship, Rey, his wingman did, but- "

"On Crait he tried to pummel you to death with what Finn called a miniature Death Star! How can you just- "

"Rey, go back - what did you just say? Snoke is what? How do you know that?!"

Finn snuffed and stirred, but didn't wake. Leia coughed dryly before collapsing backward, stifling a wheezing fit with the back of her hand while Rey fussed with her blankets again, lips pursed in alarm. Clearly they hadn't had much chance to talk since they were nearly decimated and put on the run. She hadn't meant to keep such dangerous information a secret, they'd just been busy while finding a suitable hiding place and time had felt like somewhat of a luxury... and now she felt like a liability. She had tell her... tell her everything. While she still could.

"How did you know your son wasn't the one to fire on you... from inside the ship?" she began, unsure how to proceed. The fingers of her right hand fiddled with the left. Leia cocked an eyebrow at the sudden change of subject. "Did you see him?"

"Yes, in a way" her voice a whisper again, "but mostly I felt him as a mother, and I trusted in the Force. Ben is strong with it. I could feel his reluctance, his hesitation, as if I'd witnessed it myself. And then I felt him pull away. The shots that struck us were not his."

Something unidentifiable blossomed in Rey's belly, but she was quick to suppress it.

"Would you call it some sort of... connection through the force? What you experienced?"

"Sure, maybe, yes. I've shared something similar with Luke. People sensitive to the Force have a way of reading each other, especially if they have something like a familiar relationship."

"Yes, but, I mean... could see him? Really, _see_ him, see him? Talk to him, and see him, like he was sitting in a room with you? Even though you knew he was far away?"

"I'm not sure I understand- "

"Or... touch him even?"

"Rey, what are you asking me?"

"Snoke said he was the one who bridged our minds, but- "

"What do you mean, he bridged? You still haven't told me about Snoke- "

"I'm getting to that." Rey paused for a deep breath, then launched headlong into the bizarre tale of her time with Luke on Ahch-To and her strange, Force-driven visitations with Kylo Ren. She huffed a nervous laugh when she told her she'd blasted a hole through a stone house the first time she'd seen his floating apparition. But then she admitted that, as time went on and his appearances had become more frequent, things began to change. His voice got clearer, his outlines more defined. They were able to see each other better, and things like body language and vocal inflections grew more distinct. But then the nature of their relationship had begun to change as well.

At first, any words between them had been more like an assault - like verbal warfare. They'd thrown accusations at each other like weapons - she'd stabbed at him with disgust for the murder of his father, and he'd bombarded her with ridicule for her ignorance, and belittled her for her faith in Luke. She'd flung names at him, eager to crown him in a filthy mantle of vulgar titles, and he'd condemned her for sharing the cause of people he equated with "traitors, murderers, and thieves." But when she'd called him a monster and he'd unexpectedly agreed with her... that had given her pause. After that, they had cautiously begun to communicate.

They'd started to confide little things in each other at first - little opinions and little curiosities. She was interested in kyber crystals, which was a topic she'd found he obviously enjoyed immensely. He'd wondered where she'd learned to fly a ship, and he'd listened to her drone on and on about the proper way to tune a drive cam aperture to increase propulsion and performance. She'd started to get a sense of his own loneliness, and of how he craved having something as natural as a friend to talk to. And while few were as close to her as Finn had become, this... thing inside of her, this Force... she'd found it oddly refreshing to be understood by someone with the same affliction, who wouldn't be so quick to place her on an altar to be worshipped. But then she'd opened up to him about her feelings of abandonment, about longing to find her family, and about how jealous she was of him that he had one that he could so casually throw away. He'd chided her that there was nothing casual about it, she just didn't understand, and through their connection she felt his own feelings of abandonment, and the splitting heartache he felt over the death of his father. She'd felt his struggles and failures to live up to the expectations of an abusive master. She'd felt the conflict in him, mirroring the one she sometimes felt within herself, and his resignation of having no way out but through. And then he'd told her about what had happened with Luke.

She told Leia of how they'd decided to touch. It had fulfilled a need, the catharsis of closing space to connect with another living creature. It had been sensual and virginal... and ultimately completely reckless. She told her of the vision she'd horribly misinterpreted in her eagerness to champion the light and come to his rescue. She told her of the plan she'd hatched that now, in hindsight... had been woefully adolescent. If the war could have ended so simply, it might never have gotten as far as it did in the first place. Nonetheless, she told her of her exodus to Snoke's flagship, the Supremacy.

She told her how they'd faced Snoke together, and how the Supreme Leader had interrogated her, contorting her body in pain so severe she'd feared he would snap her like a dry, dead twig. And how, in the moment of her greatest agony, he'd released her to allow his apprentice to finish what he'd started. But to the great surprise of all, Ben had chosen instead to save her - to free her with her own lightsaber, and in the process bring an end to the long reign of terror his former master had waged. She could still see it in her memory - the tiny fleeting moment while her heart had hammered with triumph, the way his dark eyes had softened, pulling back the veil for nothing more than half a breath to expose the beaten, broken core within him. And the fight that had followed... oh, that fight. It hadn't been anything so crude or inelegant as a simple cantina brawl. It had been clarion synchronicity. It had been two halves made whole, braided together into a coil of power so perfect it was unstoppable. The way their bodies had moved together... the way the Force had twinned them, shaped them, guided them... it was like a dance. It had felt like all was right in the Galaxy, in that moment. And now the memory cut her to the bone, because the instant it was over... his stony, ravenous mask of unbridled ambition had flown back into place to smother any lingering reminder of his faulty internal wiring, and he was Kylo Ren again. Shrouded in that sickening red glow and once more her enemy, he'd severed the gilded tether that had bound them so briefly, even while his hand was still reaching for hers.

 _You come from nothing, you're nothing... but not to me_. Words to hurt, but words to plead - the final gasp, the death knell of a conflict locked so tightly away within him it would never be seen again. He had never wanted the friendship of a scavenger girl from Jakku. He had wanted her power. And with the First Order now solely within his grasp, he no longer had the luxury of ambivalence toward his mother's Resistance. So with a final clash she'd left him behind with little more than regret and a broken lightsaber to remind her that anything else in him had ever existed outside of a monstrous darkness and an insatiable hungry rage. Anything else had been a lie.

"Was it really a lie?" Leia asked her, quizzically.

"Of course it was," Rey spat her answer. "I'm so sorry he's your son, Leia. I'm so sorry this happened to you. You deserve better. But your son is gone."

"I said that once, too. Don't be so hasty, child," Leia pleaded as she took her hand again, "to absolve me of the cross I bear in this. Ben has his reasons."

"Maybe he did once, but- "

"I had this same conversation with the ghost of my brother on Crait, did you know? Did I tell you?"

"No..." Again, there had been no time.

"Do you know what he told me?"

"No..."

"He told me that no one is ever truly gone."

"I couldn't bring him back, Leia. I... I failed."

"Rey..."

"I was... deceived. And, and... and what if I'm gone now too? What if I can't let go of this anger? What if I can't let go of this hurt? If I succumb to it, if I fall... how am I any better?"

Leia coughed a feeble chuckle. "It's okay to feel your anger, girl."

"But the Jedi texts- "

"The only thing the Jedi texts are good for is giving young padawans nightmares. Do you really believe the Jedi were so wise? Or were they just stubborn?"

"To be honest, I... I still don't really know what to believe."

"Well, then let me tell you something. You know I share this gift with you. But when the Jedi went looking for my brother, no one even knew he had a sister, not even our father - no one ever come looking for me, no one knew anything about me. What training do you think I ever had?"

"I can't imagine you had any at all."

"Correct. All I knew was that I had this weird little... thing inside me. But I never suffered questions like these before the Jedi came along. Did you?"

Rey furrowed her brow in consternation. While she did remember feeling sort of... afraid of herself, feeling at times as if she was scared to truly look into the face of the thing that was trying to dig its way out of her, she didn't remember ever feeling so life-or-death, or pass-fail about it before she met Luke Skywalker.

"No, not really... no, I don't think I did."

"Rey, I didn't know the first thing about Jedi. But I do know I felt anger - real, normal anger. I got angry when I stubbed my toe. I got angry when my parents wouldn't let me have my way. I got angry when a teacher gave me a poor mark in my schooling. I got angry when a boy liked my friend more than me. I got angry when the Separatists committed treason against the Republic over Trade Federation greed. I got angry when the Death Star destroyed my home world..." her voice trailed off momentarily. "I knew anger and hurt - wretched hurt, the worst hurt - when my son killed his father. And then there's Ben himself.

"His father... for as much as I loved Han and I know he loved us... it was just not his way to find joy in placing roots. He was in Ben's life, yes, but... more like a concept and not really as a father should be. He was there enough for Ben to notice he was more consistent in his absence than anything. On Crait, when he gave the order to fire on the Falcon, I imagine for him that it felt more like he was shooting at a rival that used to come along and take his father away from him. Damage was done to Ben... and I was all he had left, and I just..." The realization began to sink in that what Rey was really hearing was less a discussion on the will of the Force, and more the confessions of a dying woman's conscience.

"Rey, he was such a sweet boy once... smiling, and funny, and so intellectual for his age. And curious! He was the kind of boy that figured things out with his hands instead of reading instructions first. So many broken things in our home..." At that Leia huffed a wistful chuckle of nostalgia. Rey only resented the additional commonality drawn between her and... him. "Between his father and his heritage as a Skywalker he was doomed from the beginning to be the kind of person who'd have to break something in order to learn from it. But even before he was born - even when I could still feel him kicking me in the ribs while I was trying to sleep at night - I could feel the darkness tugging at him. I could feel the Skywalker Legacy trying to curse him from the very beginning. But as a mother, when you're looking at that wriggling little bundle of pink arms and legs swaddled against your breast, you can't see the monster looming in the shadows, because everything is a monster looming in the shadows. So you do your best to protect...

"Rey, he knew nothing of his uncle or his grandfather until... well... until after I sent him away. I would have kept that secret to my grave if it meant I could spare him the stain of being labeled Vader's descendent. For decades of my life that shame followed me everywhere I went and in everything I did, and it threatened me - threatened to ruin me, and to wreck everything I'd worked so hard to carefully build for the New Republic. It would destroy Ben before he'd even had a chance to live his own life. But when he started to show signs of Force sensitivity... and when he started asking me startling, curious little questions that frightened me... all I could think was that something evil was whispering in his ear, trying to steal my baby away from me. It was just... the Skywalker curse. Which is why I should have kept him close - I should have acted like a mother and let go of my Senate seat, my influence, my legislation, even my Resistance - I should have stopped at nothing and sacrificed whatever it took to save my son... But Luke had the experience. He wasn't just a trained Jedi, he was my brother. I thought he was Ben's last, best hope. So... I packed up the truth of our family history along with Ben's whole life, I stuffed them into a satchel with some socks and underwear, and I shipped him off to an Uncle he'd never even seen, all trussed up like a Life Day gift.

"The point is, I abandoned him. I preserved my career, and I abandoned him at a time in his life when he was terribly lost. I didn't know how to help him, I was afraid of him, and I truly believed that tossing him into the arms of a perfect stranger was the only hope he had. And can you imagine what that must have been like - what that did to him?" In truth, no one understood better than Rey. Even then, in her mind's eye she could still see that shuttle's rear jets shrinking into the blue until they disappeared. "Could you imagine sitting in that temple with all of those other students? Impressionable, competitive young people with dreams and aspirations of legendary heroes and lightsabers and there they were with the infamous Master Luke Skywalker... and could you imagine the terror of being dropped there, scared and alone, just plopped right down into the middle of all of that pressure, and then discovering you're not only the teacher's nephew, but also the grandson of the dreaded Darth Vader? Can you imagine the cruelty he must have experienced when the others found out? And with all of those eyes on you, Snoke is whispering in your ear... There is some sort of prophesy about the Skywalker lineage, Rey. One that draws the dark side to them like a magnet. Like a predator seeks its prey. It's sunk its claws into Ben all of his life, and he was stripped of every tool he'd needed to fight it.

"I did that to him. I put him in that. I made mistakes and I'll never forgive myself. It doesn't matter what Luke claims he did, Luke's lapse of judgment - his guilt - is irrelevant. Kylo Ren is my monster. The fault is mine. I live with that fear, and that guilt, and that anger toward myself, and that shame. What I'm trying to tell you, Rey, is that in my life there were no teachers, there were no texts. There were no classrooms, and to me those heroes were just people. There was just the force, and me, and my decisions I've had to live with. I have dealt with my anger and my guilt and my fears. Every damned day. And I've learned from them. And I've found inside myself the strength to keep going. But not once have I ever let it twist or corrupt me, and neither will you. You don't need anyone but yourself to teach you that.

"Do you truly regret going to that ship to save Ben and bring him home?"

"I regret failing," Rey cried.

"I know you do, but that's not what I asked. Do you regret going? Do you regret trying? Do you regret the mercy of giving him that chance?"

"I..." Rey scrubbed at her face in chagrin, but she knew the answer. "No. No, I don't. It was the right thing to do."

"Or course it was. And if he begged you for another - even if you know he would deceive you again - would you deny him?"

This time she couldn't answer, because she didn't know how to. Her head wanted to say no, but her heart was a firm maybe. She could only sit, her mouth open and working with uncertainty.

"Of course you would," Leia answered for her, "you would every time. And you should. Because that's who you are, and that's where I failed. That's the goodness in you. That's the spark of hope that never gives up, who will fight and believe to the last. That's what will keep this Resistance going. That's what will save the Jedi - by teaching them to be something better than what they were. And even if Ben never deserves you, you would give him that chance because you would never compromise what's truly right.

"Rey, feel your emotions. Give yourself permission. Don't fear the dark. The light is your guide - you haven't failed, and you won't. My son... he just got lost somewhere. But no one is ever truly lost forever - he just needs a beacon. The choice is his whether or not to follow. And he may decide not to. Don't let that change who you are. Feel your emotions, and be true to yourself. Sometimes it takes darkness to show you your light."

A hush fell between them as Leia gave her hand one more pat, then closed her eyes. Rey had spent so much of her life obsessed over where she came from, that she'd ignored the importance of the person she was meant to become. And for Ky... him... just him... it had been no different. His family had been so focused on the anathema of the Skywalker bloodline that it had become a self-fulfilling prophecy. Maybe he was who he was truly meant to be. But... maybe not. All she knew was that when she'd left the throne room of the Supremacy with two halves of a broken lightsaber in her hands and... him sprawled unconscious and vulnerable on the floor... she could have taken her chance. She may not have ended the war, but she could have ended him.

And yet she didn't. She couldn't do it, and now she knew why. She knew who she was. She knew what she was meant to be. And she would never profane that for him. She could recognize that he was broken, but she had the good sense to understand that one could never fix something that didn't want to be fixed. The only thing she could do was be the beacon her people needed, and keep finding the strength within herself to keep going.


	3. Ch 3: Power and Control

**The Machine Ch3: Power and Control**

His mind was red mist, sanguine and pulsing like a heartbeat. Although it was necessary, there was nothing about the dark side that made meditation particularly peaceful or serene. It was more like a controlled, methodical seething. It was searching and analyzing thoughts and memories and feelings, and giving them an appropriate amount of focus. It was determining their best use and siphoning power from them, drawing their edge to the surface like a fine blade. It was armoring oneself in them, weaponizing them. It required considerable concentration, and maybe a little mental privacy... which was something Kylo Ren had craved all of his life but had never truly experienced, not with Snoke having bored a hole into his brain, molesting his every thought like a child rapist for the greater bulk of his formative years. And then there was... no. Snoke was gone, and so was she. At least in a greater sense. The bond still existed, but it had changed - it was broken and bleeding. It had snapped like a bone the moment Rey finally understood what he'd meant when he'd told her he was a monster. He was never going to be this imaginary thing she believed in, and he was never going to become her tool any more than he'd been Snoke's now that he was finally free. He would betray her time and time again before he ever let that happen.

He could feel her actively ignoring him, pushing him out. It pressed against his aching mind like a bruise. Like a wound. It was no surprise, then, that focus was something that eluded him today as it ritually had. It'd been an eternal struggle. Brutal strength and fierce determination he had in spades. Bitter hatred was something he could summon with ease. Raw pain was something that never left him. But there was a secret duality that lived within him, hiding in the spaces between the heartbeats like a face peeking out of a forest. It was as impossible to ignore as it was to conceal, and it was bewildering. It was a part of him he didn't dare face - it was something that threatened to utterly destroy him, to tear him apart like the mask he demolished as punishment for its simple act of existing. It was a hidden weakness. It was a thing that reached for her against his better judgment, no matter how hard he tried to yank his hand away, no matter how many times she rejected him. And it wasn't alone.

Coupled with his own inner conflict and an unrequited bond with a woman who preferred fantasy to reality... there was pressure. A new pressure. He was his own at last, alone inside his mind for the first time, and the feeling he derived from that was indescribable. But that freedom came with a price. He was now a leader. An apprentice no longer, he was now the Master. He had wanted this, hadn't he? All of it? To finally shed that skin of hopelessness and live in a place of power and control? Being a leader wasn't spending time in training - it wasn't meditating in an intense sort of brooding contemplation or following insidious orders that slowly hacked away at the soul piece by piece. It was observing. It was participating. It was judging. And it was acting. There were advisory meetings on battle tactics to join, intelligence briefings to sit through, combat drills to supervise. There were taxes to collect, relief efforts to conduct in war-torn areas, infrastructure to rebuild, improvements to make. The galaxy wasn't going to fix itself. Even his own ship required maintenance, and he had his own drills to run. And while he'd always viewed Snoke as some sort of godly, omniscient presence that ran the First Order iron-fisted from his seat on a gaudy, ridiculous red throne, there had been much business the dead Sith lord had conducted without Ren's knowledge. The old man had kept logs, even a diary or a journal to memorialize his exploits for posterity, but the moment the good General Armitage Hux had laid his eyes on the corpse on the floor - tongue lolling out and eyes rolled back, his severed hand still twitching where it had landed - First Order Intelligence had been ordered to classify and apply the strictest of encryption algorithms to his data to preemptively dissuade Resistance slicers from making intrusions. Well, maybe not that very moment, since their more immediate concern at the time had been abandoning a ship that had neatly been split in two, but it would not have been long until rumors began to circulate of chaos in the ranks of the First Order. The Resistance may have been thoroughly decimated even as Snoke's body was still warm on the polished black tiles, but it would only take one enterprising young mind to make a catastrophic breakthrough. They had learned that much since the days of the Death Star and Starkiller Base. Kylo Ren was certain the lockdown was necessary... but something still felt unnervingly personal about it, especially considering it was taking longer than expected for Intelligence to supply their new Supreme Leader with his own secure, personal copy. One he made no hesitation in requesting.

In all, it was likely that there were things Snoke knew - things he himself needed to know - that he simply... did not. But someone else did. And for a mind that was conditioned over decades of torment that control was nothing more than a gossamer illusion, it was more than enough to make him hyper-vigilant. No one organization was immune to dissention or mutiny.

And betrayal had been somewhat of a theme for the Sith of the past. Their uncanny penchant for inspiring sedition was part of why they needing burying.

But even his unease wasn't... entirely it. The final instrument to add its voice to the crescendo in his head was a question. Just that - a constant, nagging query. It had started as a nameless, faceless whisper, something he attributed merely to his own self-doubt and recrimination. But it persisted over time, relentless in its pursuit for an answer with which it was never wholly satisfied.

 _What do you want?_

It woke him from his sleep.

 _What do you want?_

It bugged him in the 'fresher unit.

 _What do you want?_

It robbed him of his appetite.

 _What do you want?_

It called to him as he crossed hallways. It leered at him from behind shadowy corners. It breathed down his neck as he watched over Troopers in practice formation. It interrupted him as he read reports. It stole his train of thought during conversation. It haunted his every moment of quiet introspection. It was the rattling chain that rose above the crashing cacophony inside his mind. And it was singing its refrain even now.

 _What do you want?_

What was it even asking? Was it inquiring purely on a professional level or was it about something deeper, like personal ambitions or goals? Was it asking about a base level of creature comfort, or about a higher, more esoteric concept of happiness? Was it existential, or more material? He thought he knew the answer. It was the same answer every time, it just felt... so right. But the question plagued him still, a disease for which the cure was still a mystery.

"Freedom," he reaffirmed once more in his meditative mind state. He was certain that was the answer.

Freedom from yearning for a father that wanted everything else in the galaxy more than him. Freedom from hating a mother who feared him - who ripped him from the safety of his home and ostracized him out of a matter of convenience, who preferred to abandon him rather than commit career suicide. Freedom from a teacher whose expectations were unattainable - who found him so repugnant in his lacking that attempting to murder him when he was at his most vulnerable seemed the only proper thing to do. Freedom from a mentor whose seduction was tantamount to perversion - a mentor who took delight in elegantly manipulating his weaknesses and longings, reducing him to nothing more than a desecrated, subservient shell. Freedom from a thrumming, hypnotic darkness that whispered promises into his ear that this... conflict within him screamed were lies. Perhaps even freedom from a family legacy that predestined him for greatness... yet doomed him to failure... or worse.

 _What do you want?_

"DAMMIT!" he bellowed as he leaped to his feet, Force-ready fists balled at his sides, "I already told... I already..." He wiped one hand across his scarred face, and tugged his fingers through his hair as he surveyed his dim surroundings and again found himself alone. He sighed in frustration. Was he going mad? Was this it? Shoulders slumped, he gave up on focus and instead removed his silken black robe and headed for the 'fresher. He had better things to do today.

"Have you already?" called a voice from within the room, too near to be believed when there had been nothing there before. "Really?"

Kylo Ren whipped around, ready to face an attacker head on but what he saw instead was a ghost, glowing faintly blue with arms crossed in mocking disapproval.

"Oh... it's you."

"I did tell you this would happen, didn't I?" Luke said as he smiled, half self-assured, half predatory.

Kylo Ren swallowed a hot flare of anger as he had so many times before. With forced calm, he flipped on the controls that would eventually launder him fresh clothing and cleanse his body.

"You're wasting your time," he rebuked as he reached for his robe again, drawing it around his shoulders. "And I can imagine there are better ways to spend an afterlife than watching me take a bath."

In truth, he was accustomed to the intrusion. He had, after all, spent his pubescent teenage years having something even as natural and innocent as a young boy's sexual fantasy twisted into the service of an authoritative dark master. Nudity in front of his uncle was nothing by this point.

"What was it you said you wanted?" Luke asked him, ignoring the jest as he casually paced. "You've said it before, many times, but it's so soft and unconvincing I'm not sure I heard it. And I don't think you really believe it. What was it again?"

"I don't have to do this with you."

"I know you don't, but since I'm here and you know I'm not going away, you might as well at least play along."

"I want what I already have," Kylo Ren replied, doing his best to seem unperturbed as he rummaged for under things. "I fought for it and I won, and no one is going to take it away."

"Take what aw- "

"My freedom." He closed a drawer, tied a knot around his waist, and turned around. "Freedom to make decisions. Freedom to shape this galaxy in a way I know is right. Freedom to end Jedi hypocrisy once and for all," he added with a jab of a finger. "Is that what you want to hear?"

"It's not about what I want to hear, Ben."

"Then why do you keep asking- "

"Ben, we both know I'm not the one who keeps asking this question. I'm just here because you can't seem to answer."

"I already told you!" He couldn't stop the fist from clenching at his side again. Already he was summoning the Force to do his bidding, wrapping his anger and defiance - his fury - into a tight ball to be flung like a punch to the face. "I already have the answer!"

"You do? So let me get this straight," Luke said as he tapped his lips in something that felt more like an insult than genuine curiosity. "You already have what you want. So why do you keep asking yourself what you want if you already have it?"

Faced with the conundrum, Kylo Ren allowed his rage to ebb from a boil down to something that was more like a controlled simmer.

"Indulge me, if you will," Luke continued. "If freedom isn't the answer, and it clearly isn't, then what could be?"

Kylo Ren could only shake his head. If he had any guess, he wouldn't be having this maddening, circular conversation that was totally saturated in typical Jedi nonsense. If everything he'd said was true, and it was, then what else could the answer be? Did something lie deeper at the root? After all, how did he really know his new freedom couldn't be taken away? Maybe what he wanted was something more substantial than a fleeting, temporary dalliance in what it meant to finally be free? And what was freedom - how was it defined? How was it obtained? It was a main staple of the Sith code. And while there were many tenets of the faith with which he disagreed, education regarding the Sith code was a large part of his transition from a boy to a man. His chains were broken through victory... victory he already had. But victory was achieved through...

"Power," he blurted excitedly. Yes, it felt right. Freedom could be lost. Victory was a matter of perspective. But Power was the key to achieving both.

"Ben," Luke frowned, "you were born with immense power. Don't you have that already?"

"It's not the same, I- "

"Isn't it? You're the Supreme Leader of the First Order, for stars' sake, you have the entire galaxy at your fingertips. What sort of power is it, exactly, that you're needing over all of these people in addition to what you already have? I don't understand."

"I..." Why didn't he understand? Why was this so difficult? He wasn't being intentionally obtuse, he just... oh. Oh no. No, he knew why. It was so clear now, so succinct. The bright white conflict deep inside him clawed its way up his throat and was ready to choke him, but he pushed it down. He pushed everything down.

"You don't understand because you have no idea what it's like to be powerless," he said.

"I see," Luke nodded, bowing his head with an insufferable smile. "And you do?"

A father he couldn't win. A mother he couldn't keep. A teacher that gave up. A mentor that twisted his pain and his insecurities into delusions of grandeur. A darkness that made him nothing more than an impotent dog of war. And a girl...

"Is that really it?" Luke probed.

A girl. An equal half that unlocked a door he thought he'd tightly shut, a vision of a future where she was standing beside him, a friend to which he'd given his heart and his hurts trembling in his outstretched hand believing that this time they'd finally be safe... A girl who drew her lightsaber, ready to strike him down for simply failing to be what she wanted. It wasn't just the rejection or some childish notion of feeling outcast by the people he thought would love him... it wasn't even the betrayal. It was the blind stupidity that he fell into like a trap every single time. He absolutely could not let it happen again. The fingernails in his fist bit into his palm. He knew the answer.

"Control," he growled through gritted teeth. The power to be certain he left his enemies nothing more than smoldering ash, but the control to be completely and utterly certain that there was no one left to hurt him after they were gone.

"There we go, now we're getting somewhere- " Luke looked for a brief second like he would say something more, but he stopped abruptly, jerking his head to the side as if he'd heard a noise. Then Kylo Ren felt it too - a sharp, quick pang, the yank of the flesh one feels when being shot. More an emotion, however, than a bodily sensation, it still managed to steal his breath.

"No..." Luke whispered, his hands falling limp.

It was despair. It threaded through the strange bond he shared with Rey like electricity arcing down a line. It was so raw and so real he thought at any moment she would manifest before him, showing herself for the first time since she closed the door on Crait. His anticipation of her was so strong and so vivid he lurched forward on unsteady feet, batting Luke's ghost away like a puff of smoke as he stalked the length of the floor. Searching... listening... feeling for her, even calling.

"... Rey?"

"Leia..." Luke sighed into the empty room.

No... no, that was it, wasn't it. Leia... his mother. Something was wrong, everything was wrong... something...

His mother. His mother was dead.

"Rey?" Kylo Ren pleaded more insistently. The fortress of resentment he'd built around himself for protection crumbled away, revealing the lost and scared young boy who still ached for the touch, the smell, the warm asylum of his mother.

"Rey! Answer me - REY?!" He hadn't shot her, right? He couldn't do it! She knew that didn't she? Did she know he was sorry? Did she know he'd spent his whole life missing his mother? Did she know that this thing he kept buried inside himself had always hoped he'd see her just one more time someday?

"REY?" he cried, panicked. "This isn't fair, Rey, it's cruel - let me see her, please?" He ignored the tears welling in his eyes. "Please...?"

But all he could find as he searched their bond was the barrier - an impossible, immovable boundary as strong as the Force that built it, erected the moment she'd fled him in disgust and left him behind, once again alone. The air hissed and sizzled, glowing red as his saber left its place on his dresser to smack into his open palm, igniting immediately. He lunged at the barrier, striking anything in his path - his bedding, the chest of drawers, the 'fresher, the wall, even Luke - in his attempt to demolish that immutable, insulting, impenetrable facade of indifference that she absolutely refused to bring down.

"SHE'S MY MOTHER, REY!" he sobbed through the smoke and the sparks, chest heaving. "ANSWER ME!"

"She doesn't want to," Luke said, somber and sad before he turned away, fading into nothingness.

Of course she didn't. She didn't want him. And why would she? No one else would. But he still expected better from a Jedi. Was this the face of their new order? This cold and callous lack of empathy? This needless and heartless abandonment of compassion? He swallowed his rage once more, forcing it down and down, internalizing it where it would harden into something designed to cut and tear. He wiped his eyes and quickly dressed. He was resigned. His galaxy was no place for someone like her, and he would hunt her to the ends of the universe if it meant he'd bring an end to her, and even the possibility that she'd train others to be like her. He would finish what his grandfather started.

His long cloak billowed behind him as he marched with purpose, a unit of Praetorians flanking him formally on either side. They passed down the long corridors that lead past the bridge and into the administrative offices. His goal was to meet with advisory staff and members of Intelligence - he wanted updates on the methods they were using to track the remaining ragtag band of Resistance fighters that survived the assault on, and above, Crait. He wanted a better estimate on the number of deep cover operatives they had scattered in the field - in cantinas, on merchant ships, working in bookkeeping and freight, even toiling in mines. His adversary flew in an iconic ship, and he wanted every eye on the sky.

His heightened state of spatial awareness buzzed as he walked, however - the Force carrying voices to him that others would casually miss. A secret conversation. He drew up short - short enough that his Guard bumped into each other in confusion. He ordered them to be still and quiet, and when all he could hear was their breathing over the occasional rustle of leather, he reached out with the Force... and listened.

"The budget is solid, Hux, I never doubted that to begin with." It was the voice of Commander Belloth - an upstanding member of the First Order with an exemplary service record. He was also acting minister of planetary defense. "You know what my doubts are. They come from the top down. And I know you share my concerns, but what really is at stake here is how we make this plan work."

"As I said before," Hux replied, "this is why I have our backup set of data. If we can concisely prove our points to the shareholders, we might make some headway. We only have to get them to listen."

"How do we do that, though?"

"Leave that to me. You just have to know how to speak their language."

"It just seems risky, Hux. There's just so much riding on this... we can't keep chasing down revenge, he has to be stopped. The First Order has to move forward, or- "

"Or what, they'll cut us off? And take their business elsewhere? To who? The Merchants' Guild? Casinos and resorts? The Resistance, for stars' sake? Calm yourself, man. We still have the top position."

"The top is a scary place to be, Hux."

"Which is why we have to keep our wits together. Now. I will make our proposal to the shareholders. I need you to keep using the technology they've graciously allotted us - keep building the new designs, but I also want you to keep scanning Korriban."

"I still don't understand what you want with that pile of old, dusty ruins," Belloth sighed, still acquiescing to his orders. "But it will be done. What about the Mandalorians?"

"They're an expense I can't afford to justify at this time, but if Korriban doesn't pan out, they're plan B."

"We need plan something, alright... force users... they're troublesome. Just make it work, okay? Make it work."

"We will neatly sow the seeds of chaos the Trade Federation has carefully bred," Hux replied, characteristically clownish in his attempts at poetic language, "but when it comes time for harvest... we'll just see who does the reaping."

"Affirmative," was Belloth's only answer as he curtly saluted and returned to his duties.

Kylo Ren couldn't even feel angry, although he did feel himself shaking. It was more the feeling of justification in his earlier distrust that left him vibrating near the point of incandescence. Distrust was a philosophy in which he was sadly yet thankfully well-versed. And force users were a lot more than troublesome, you steaming wet, traitorous pile of bantha dung. They were the bane of existence, and the only ones suited for the seat of power - you dare to come and try to take it you virulent, cancerous worm. Force users' bodies were honed for combat, their minds were trained as armaments, and they held the very Force that binds the universe tight in their fearsome and unrelenting grasp. A force user will sacrifice his own father to a darkness that gifts him unlimited power while you sit and make budgets and secret plans.

Kylo Ren lifted his chin and squared his shoulders, his face a mask of porcelain dignity. His goals hadn't changed - Rey Nobody from Nowhere was still a marked woman. There was just the matter of this... new obstacle to deal with first.

* * *

Later that night, a gifted young slicer with First Order Intelligence sat wide-eyed in the glow of his own terminal, nothing more than a meat puppet whose strings were being pulled by an unseen operator behind a curtain. With the precision of a surgeon, the young man neatly broke the lock on the back door access of their file system, and covered his tracks like a thief. For the sake of expediency, he did not decrypt the data as he copied it off to a previously secured network node - a pad that sat hidden in the cockpit of Kylo Ren's ship. He did, however, include the small decoder key file that would provide the proper cipher.

Ren had everything he needed. He'd toyed with the idea of snapping the man's neck to eliminate the witness, but he didn't want to raise suspicion. Instead, he bade the man fall asleep, and convinced him he'd only dreamed the late-night events after having dozed off while putting in overtime. It would take days or even weeks to decrypt the data he'd stolen, but with enough diligence it would be done.

"Control," he muttered to himself in the dark of his chambers as he settled back down for meditation. This was one trap that he would not stumble into blindly.


	4. Ch 4: Stupidity (Part One)

**The Machine Ch4: Stupidity (Part One)**

"This is stupid!" Finn cried as they ran. "Everything about this is stupid!" In spite of his feelings on the matter, he still made prodigious use of his training as a First Order Trooper by firing an excellent shot over his shoulder, neatly dispatching a pursuing assailant. Rey would have to be impressed later - at the moment her attention was divided between keeping her eyes on the Wookiee in front of her and using the Force to clutter their escape path behind them. Various merchants' wares were sacrificed for their hasty retreat - exotic fruits were sent rolling, bags of grain and ground spices erupted into clouds, stalls came crashing down everywhere sending colorful bolts of fabric to billow in the breeze. People everywhere were screaming.

It was a shame, really. It was an opulent marketplace in an opulent city - a shimmering, palatial metropolis in a dreamy, pearly sky that Rey never could have imagined actually existed as a child. Cloud City truly was as heavenly as it was aptly named. It was also incredibly difficult to navigate while being chased. The streets and walkways were narrow and sometimes pinched by colonnades, and they were arranged in a wheel spoke pattern. There never seemed to be a damned left turn when you really, really needed one. Rey could see the gleam of R2's rounded top as he careened ahead of them, more adept at navigating the maze having the benefit of a map in his memory banks. He was difficult to keep up with during crowded business hours, and she was afraid they'd lose him... or worse, that he'd be taken and their mishap would be transformed from its current level of stupidity into an even more stupid rescue attempt. Finn was right - it was a terrible idea to fire so many shots running full tilt through a city known for earning it's lofty place in society (not to mention its physical location) mining a particularly volatile gas from the lower levels of the atmosphere. Rey was thankful Finn's shots were well placed - an errant shot could... no. No, she abandoned that thought quickly.

It was also probably a little stupid to come to Bespin in the first place. She rolled a barrel out in front of a young mother who was about to bring her infant carrier into the street amidst sizzling blaster fire that singed Rey's hair and put holes in her cloak. She hurdled the barrel as it rolled back around and heard Finn curse behind her as he missed the obstacle with more luck than athleticism. She could still hear R2 beeping in the distance, but he'd left her view and even the hulking frame of Chewbacca was getting tougher to make out. His height was his advantage - he outpaced them three steps to one.

"There!" Finn yelled, pointing with his firearm once they'd broken free from the market and onto an outer road on the rim of the platform. They were free to run uninhibited, but they were also terribly exposed. They couldn't stay there - Rey followed his line of sight. "We need to be over there!"

"Over where - I don't see- " Rey frantically scanned the sky ahead of her, pausing only a moment and bouncing on the balls of her feet. Behind them the cries of terrified onlookers and the jeers of angry shopkeepers were muffled by the clatter of obviously advancing footsteps. "I don't - where do you see - OH!"

There it was - on the opposite platform across an open expanse of very busy skyway teeming with zipping, flying crafts of all makes and models - the Calrissian Family Wind Catamaran, lovingly named The Twilight Zephyr. She could just make out the tall, gilded mast of its communications array glinting in the late afternoon sunlight.

"We have to get over there!" Finn stated the obvious, although he wasn't wrong.

"We can't take the long way," Rey stated the even more obvious as the clamor of First Order Troopers drew up to a halt behind them.

"There they are!"

"I know you're not suggesting what I think you are..." Finn mused nervously.

"Trust in the Force, Finn." Rey couldn't help the devilish smile that split her face and did absolutely nothing to reassure her best friend. "Just don't look down."

"I think I hate yooOOUUU- "

Rey's unseen hand was gentle enough as she took him over the edge but... she supposed it was possible he did feel the sensation of falling for a teensy bit. She would apologize later.

They jumped and landed squarely on the back of a taxi, startling an affluent and wealthy man as he was unabashedly busy with a lady friend of ill repute in the back seat. His wallet had fallen on the floor, scattering credit chits of large denominations where they probably were best not seen. Not wishing to cause more of a scene, they didn't stay long. They waited for proper timing, then hopped next to the front of an expensive personal skiff, operated by a man in a suit who was engaged in a heated discussion via holo with another man who appeared to be a business associate. The man's eyes bulged as he yanked the controls. The skiff jolted and Finn lost his footing, swinging one leg out over the puffy, clouded, opalescent abyss, but Rey was not about to let him fall. She briefly wondered if it would be best to apologize to Finn with an expensive brick of Yavin spice chocolate, or if this was going to take a brandy of some kind...

"Where's Chewie?" Finn called, probably to distract himself from dwelling on his near death experience.

"Dammit! I don't - I saw, I saw them, I - JUMP!"

The timing was right, and this time they landed on the trailer of a cargo vessel with slightly better footing. Rey took a moment to turn a circle and survey their progress - they had a few minutes at best. She saw no sign of Chewbacca or R2, but did see Troopers closing in on them, weaving through traffic on speeder bikes.

"If they get close enough we can shoot them from here," Rey called, shielding her eyes as she watched them.

"No shooting, Rey! This thing is full of tanks of gas!"

"Do... do you think _they_ know that?!"

"We've gotta jump!"

Rey wondered if Finn enjoyed brandy, and if he had a favorite. She wondered what kind of apology she'd have to give Rose for dancing her lover across exploding tanks of gas?

They landed next on the roof of a large extended family vehicle, teetering and windmilling their arms to keep their balance. She could hear the mother cry out and briefly made eye contact with a young boy who peeked up to take a look. His face was so plump and soft and clean... she was never that kind of child. She wondered what she must have looked like to him before a shot whizzed past her left ear. Secure in herself and her abilities more than she ever had been in her entire life, she winked at the child then reached out with the Force and tugged one of the Troopers off of his bike. He shrieked as he disappeared into the clouds.

"Quick!" she yelled to Finn, and they straddled the riderless machine as it closed the distance between them on its own remaining inertia.

"I'm calling the authorities, you hooligans!" the father in the vehicle hollered, shaking his fist at them. The boy in the back only continued to watch, wide-eyed in fearless, childlike wonderment as Rey hit the throttle and they sped away.

"Get steady, I can take the shot," Finn called out to Rey as a second Trooper drew up alongside them. The Trooper drew his weapon, but Finn was faster. Both bike and rider spiralled away into the sky.

"There's a third!" Finn said as he wrenched his neck around to look behind.

The Trooper gripped his own throttle tightly in fierce determination. He was lighter and faster than they were, and more efficient, and the Zephyr was still... over there. He bobbed and ducked easily through traffic earning himself a few honks and shouts but he lithely navigated the speeding morass all the same. He gained ground on them with alarming velocity.

"Go faster!" Fin screamed.

"I'm trying!"

She tried the Trooper's tactics - tried blending in with the crowd the way she did in the marketplace. At one point she misjudged the additional weight of the rider on the back - one she never had on Jakku - and she tipped the bike at such a sharp angle that Finn clutched at her waist. He squeezed her so hard he knocked the air from her.

"We're not gonna make it!" Finn cried in despair.

But it was right there now, looming in front of them - the false sense of security beckoning from the deck of that larger vehicle. A normal, sane person might possibly have applied the brakes to draw up alongside in a controlled and orderly fashion. But there was nothing normal or sane about this. This was adrenaline and stupidity.

"Hold on, and jump when I do!" Rey commanded. The Zephyr was right there - they could just reach it.

"I hate it when you say, 'hold on!' Nothing good ever comes from 'hold on!'"

"Get ready!"

"Holy Mother of Makers..."

"GO!"

Rey didn't even have to use the Force this time. As her feet pushed off from the foot pegs, she gave the steering column on the bike a final yank. They both sailed, arms outstretched like in slow motion, pointedly ignoring the vast swirling immensity of atmosphere below that waited to swallow them whole. As they reached for the railing of the catamaran the speeder twisted in its trajectory, whipping around in the opposite direction. The trailing Trooper had no time to react as he collided with the craft, the blast from the small explosion giving Finn and Rey the right amount of required propulsion to properly see them over the edge. They both successfully landed in safe somersaults on the deck of the Zephyr, dusting off debris and pieces of Adascorp armor as they rose to their feet.

"So much for Arakyd Industries' finest," Finn laughed as he seated himself at the Zephyr's helm. He joined Rey in scanning the heavens as he backed the catamaran out of her dock. The sky above them darkened as a mammoth shadow crossed over the horizon.

"Oh..." he gasped as he saw it the same time she did. "Oh no..."

Truthfully, she felt it before she saw it - a pinprick of sensation against the mental barrier in her mind like a slight knock, testing to see if she'd answer. Always testing. The newly crowned Vindicator had entered the upper atmosphere. Rey couldn't help the same shadow that crossed her face. Finn, as perceptive as he was guileless, had naturally noticed.

"He's up there, isn't he. Can he find us?"

Rey, still catching her breath, reserved her answer. She didn't know whether to feel scared... or sad. She bent her knees against the lurch of forward momentum the Zephyr gave when they entered traffic. She was a fast, agile vehicle and would suit them nicely, and she was also a gift but... she felt stolen, along with so much more. Rey ran her hand along her fine, brassy railing and pictured him up there, a glowering dark prince perched on the throne of his sinister, floating castle. His bitterness tasted like ashes that had lost their warmth to nightfall. The Twilight Zephyr was supposed to have been a gift from Lando Calrissian to his friends, Han and Leia, to celebrate the birth of their son. But along with everything else that was intended for him - the relationship with his parents, his father's ship, training with his uncle, even his grandfather's lightsaber - the catamaran was one more thing that had ended up falling into her lap instead. Property of Rey Nobody from Nowhere, a pauper who'd stolen a prince's life. She did her best to remember what Finn had told her once when she'd voiced her concern over the growing trend. "No - Kylo Ren gave all of that away," he'd said, waving a hand for emphasis. "He could have come back a long time ago, but he made his choice." Of course she knew Finn was right, and she knew that she and the Resistance needed all the help they could get, which included every person and every tool, but... something still felt very wrong about it. She wondered if it was more than her simple rejection of Ky... him that made him hate her so badly. She wondered if it was because she had essentially snuck into this fairytale story while he wasn't looking and just... replaced him. Watching the people in the cars beside them go about their daily lives, she couldn't help but take her seat and quietly lament over the latest blow she'd dealt him.

* * *

General Leia Organa had passed away peacefully in her sleep. Before she did, however, she had awakened once more and had passed a hand through Rey's hair, rousing her where she'd dozed off next to the woman's cot. She'd had one last message to impart, and it had taken the rest of her strength to speak the clipped words.

"For help... see Lando... Cloud City." That'd been it. A short time later she was gone.

Rey had gathered that "Lando" was probably the name of a person, but she'd initially thought of "cloud city" as more of a descriptor than an actual title. Of course, as it turned out, it'd been both. At first only Rose had really known Leia was referring to Bespin, having had experience dealing with their infamous gross national product. But Poe, too, had then made the recollection having known Leia as long as he had. With the "dawn" of the next morning however, which wasn't really a dawn in a tidally locked orbit, they'd begun to realize how sincere their need for help really had become.

They were grieving. Their fleet was in shambles. They weren't leaderless, but they were young and still a bit green. They were low on supplies and low on morale. They were hungry and they were hunted, and their calls for help had thus far gone unanswered. Bespin was far away though, pushing the limits of their communications range - it'd been possible their requests for aid had simply gone unreceived. Perhaps this enigmatic "Lando" could yet be amenable to their cause.

It hadn't just been their short supply of munitions, rations, communications, and... well, personnel that had made the situation so dire, however. The added complication had been the invisible string the Force had tied between Rey and their enemy. It'd been starkly reminiscent of the deadly tracking system the First Order had used to follow them through hyperspace. If he'd managed to find a crack in the door between them... it would've been all over. He'd have quickly found them, and he'd have made absolutely no hesitation in blasting them into ceaseless oblivion.

She remembered standing tall and strong with the last vestiges of their once proud and mighty force, her face completely soaked even though the heat from the funeral pyre had baked her skin while it robbed them of Leia's earthly remains. She'd glanced around at the others who were missing so many more that hadn't gotten the benefit of a funeral service. Many of them had been people she'd never even met. She remembered being aware that Poe had been speaking in spite of not seeming the type that was comfortable giving speeches. She supposed he'd felt that maybe it was something that came with... his new job. She'd been cognizant of the words he'd been reciting even if she couldn't have repeated them, but in truth she'd been thoroughly distracted, doing everything she could to keep... him out. She'd been certain it was his grief she'd felt on top of her own. The pain had been sharper and colder than hers, the flinty edge jagged with guilt. And she'd heard him - his screaming rage had threatened to beat the life out of her, savaging the closure between them with both fists before finally resorting to his saber. She'd withstood him like a dry bone waits out a sandstorm. Eventually his fury had lost its bluster, and had dissipated into sullen void.

He would never understand.

He would never know how tempted she'd been to open that door. He would never see how hollow it had left her. In that moment she'd felt trapped in a maelstrom of nothing but wrongs. On one hand had been an agonizing empathy for a man who had just lost the last living tie to his ebbing humanity - it had begged her to reach out and provide the comfort he'd sought from her so desperately and she'd forced herself to turn him away. On the other had been the Resistance - a new family that had adopted her and provided the support and friendship she'd needed for the journey of her own self-discovery - and her intense need to keep them hidden and safe. And in the middle of it all was her attempt to keep her internal struggle a very perilous secret.

That had been the first time Finn had taken notice that his friend might have been battling an unseen inner foe, and she'd realized then that secrecy would not be possible. He'd met her eyes and cocked an eyebrow in an unspoken question. What had been written on her face was nothing as ordinary as mourning a fallen comrade.

Unable to bear watching Leia's ashes be collected anyway, she'd approached Poe and Commander D'Acy when the service was over. They'd been having the same argument they'd entered before the funeral began. The decision to use fire, while natural in the absence of a proper place to bury Leia, had been controversial. They obviously couldn't have taken her back to Alderaan, and it was dangerous to return her to Chandrila, where she'd been living when Ben had been born. And it hadn't felt right to just... release her into the icy, unfeeling emptiness of open space. But the delay the atmospheric units would have experienced after the burn of so much precious oxygen could have presented a possible health hazard for the people she'd left behind. Rey had thought of a solution to the problem, however - and a solution to her own problem as well.

Simply put, she would just leave, and take her connection to Ky... him through the Force with her. But in addition to that, they'd been in need of someone to volunteer to seek out this "Lando" so-and-so that, it turned out, Chewbacca apparently knew quite well, and they'd been in need of supplies. She'd spent the bulk of her life a scavenger by trade, and Chewie a smuggler, and they had a fast ship. So she would take herself and the Wookiee and anyone else who wished to join them, and whisk them away to Bespin where they'd no longer be breathing up the suddenly taxed atmosphere in the dome on Arturo 24. The plan had felt right. The first thing she'd needed to do to state her case, however, was confess.

Starting with Poe and D'Acy made sense, given their positions in leadership, and they were certainly on the need-to-know. She'd expected Poe to stop her, to interrupt her with a, "woah, wait, hold on" when her tale had reached the part where she'd freely walked herself on board the Supremacy. But contrary to the impression she'd begun to build of the man, he'd only listened. His face had remained a pensive mask while D'Acy herself had paled, but she'd been free to otherwise explain her situation and pose her proposition.

"Woah, woah, wait, hold on," he'd finally said when she'd specifically mentioned fueling up the Millennium Falcon, presumably to actually fly it in open space and perform the tasks she'd begun to describe in great detail. That, apparently, had been where the line was drawn. "You can't be serious."

"It's a starship... so, yes? Sadly it cannot yet run on good luck."

"Rey," he'd casually batted aside her attempt at sarcasm, "that ship is a marked ship. I don't know if you've noticed, but your new buddy up there," he'd pointed at the sky while horribly mislabeling her relationship with the man, "seems to have a little more than just a simple grudge to settle with it. By now he's got the whole galaxy gunning for that thing."

"But how are we supposed to- "

"We'll find another way, but that thing is grounded - nobody's taking it anywhere."

This had earned a bellowing, growling riot act from Chewbacca. Finn had then turned at the commotion and made his way over to see what was wrong.

"Poe, I can literally count the number of fighters we've got left- "

"I'm sure we'd manage without one- "

"And we need things! Lots of things - we've been here for months with no contact! We can't just transport everything we need on an x-wing for stars' sake! And our one remaining transport vessel, may I remind you- "

"I'm sure you don't- "

"Is slow and not nearly as well armed as the Falcon!" Chewbacca had grunted his agreement.

"It's too risky," Poe had responded, "and right now we're just not in a good enough position to take any risks."

"You can't be serious," Finn had interrupted, "I know you're not talking about leaving again."

"You need allies," Rey had continued, "and you need supplies. You need speed and you need weaponry. And you need fewer people breathing the air."

Poe had merely pinched the bridge of his nose. "Rey, we've already been- "

"And may I also remind you that the Falcon is technically a private, neutral vessel, and not officially owned by the Resistance Fleet. She's not yours to command."

She'd known the instant she'd said it that she'd gone too far. Poe's tan skin had reddened as his eyebrows knitted together. D'Acy could only keep her silence, but she'd also gone out of her way to avoid eye contact. Finn could only frown, crestfallen, and that was the pin that had popped her balloon. She'd realized he was recalling some harsh truths he'd learned about how war works during his time with Rose on Canto Bight. _War has a certain philosophy_. Leia's words had come back to haunt her. What she'd just said to them had bordered on treason, and truly she'd expect better from anyone... especially herself. With as few of them that remained, they'd needed unity amongst themselves more than ever if they had any hope of defeating their enemy and winning this war. Even Chewbacca had nothing to add.

"I'm so sorry," she'd begun, "I shouldn't have..."

"Rey," Poe had taken two steps forward in challenge, "what do we do when the galaxy's last remaining Jedi gets vaporized by a First Order AA gun when she enters orbit somewhere?"

"I'm not, I'm not a..." she'd let her thought end there. All she could do was shake her head and sigh her defeat. "Look. This isn't just anywhere, alright? This is General Organa's last ally, and someone who will recognize that ship better than any of us. Please - don't you think it's worth one risk? Aren't you interested in seeing what we could gain?" Her hands had reached out between them, placating. She'd waited through Poe's heavy pause with the patience the Makers blessed a diplomat.

"Fine," he'd finally relented and it had taken all her restraint to keep from leaping for joy. This was important - it had to be done. "But under one condition."

"Name it."

"You establish communications, you establish a link for a supply chain, then you find a place to stash that ship."

Chewbacca had thrown his hairy fists in the air and roared but had ultimately been ignored.

"But... but how will we- "

"We will devise an extraction plan for you and whatever cargo you pick up. But my point still stands, Rey - you can't just be parading that thing all over the known universe. I don't care if you figure out a way to end this connection you have with Kylo Ren - I don't care if you figure out a way to end a hundred different connections - that ship is a giant flashing red sign that says, 'follow me,' to any enemy squadron that happens to be patrolling the area." He'd shook his head and jabbed a finger at the ground. "You'll lead them back here every single time. It's just as dangerous. It's gotta go."

"But- "

"One. You said one risk, and you've got it. But no more."

"One risk," she'd said, closing her eyes in acceptance, "is hopefully all we'll need."


	5. Ch 5: Stupidity (Part Two)

**The Machine Ch5: Stupidity (Part Two)**

"Son of a sarlacc pit," Finn whispered under his breath as he deftly and patiently navigated the Twilight Zephyr through heavy traffic. "I don't see them... I don't see them anywhere, do you?"

Rey lifted a hand to her eyes as she scanned the platform. They'd seen neither dome nor hair of R2 or Chewbacca since they'd gotten separated during the chase. With the Seat of the First Order having made atmospheric entry, Troopers would certainly be descending upon them in endless hordes, making landfall starting immediately. Reconnecting with their missing comrades was now an imperative. Her eyes started to cross from wearily searching the spaces between the columnar forms of walking people. She saw handsome, stately couples strolling the promenade, their elegant robes ruffling in the breeze as they sipped fizzy drinks. She saw irascible mothers anxiously herding their children along the thoroughfare, wrapped packages in hand after a long day of shopping. She saw more suited businessmen conducting their trade via holo while briskly walking and trying to cool hot cups of caf. She saw what might have been a tour group curiously meandering the walkways taking in the sights, their hands lifted to their chests as they gazed upon the majesty of the scenery and the fathomless, almost iridescent tumult that made up the clouded horizon. She even saw other service droids, zigzagging through the crowds performing duties and running errands. And between them all, lurking in the shadows where they were mostly and appropriately out of sight, were beggars seeking coins and survival, or even a way off world. But nowhere did she even catch so much as a glimpse of R2's metal shape, or even a grey-brown hint of Chewbacca's shaggy hide.

"It's alright," Finn reassured her, "we know where they're headed."

But what if they weren't there when they got there? What if they never got there at all? What if something was disastrously wrong, and they just hadn't realized it yet? She should have listened to Poe. This was all just one huge, stupid mistake at a time when they really couldn't afford to make any stupid mistakes. She blamed herself and her childish inability to see the world around her for what it really was. And, sometimes, the people in it.

"We can't worry about it until we get there, and we have all the facts," Finn continued. "Relax - this isn't exactly Chewie's first hand of sabacc. Didn't you tell me he's over two hundred years old? Pretty sure he's got this."

Rey knew he was right, but she couldn't help feeling responsible. It was her idea to go there in the first place - this was her gamble. Leia was Ky... his mother. It should've been elementary that he'd be keeping tabs on his mother's closest allies. Poe had clearly come to that conclusion - why hadn't she? What was it really that had kept her from seeing reason? Had she just wanted an excuse to run away - to escape facing the death of someone she'd held so dear? Was she just having trouble adjusting to being part of a group after so many years alone? Or was it something more like what she and Finn had been discussing the day they'd left...? Something about just simply having a job to do?

* * *

She'd been below the Falcon's cargo deck with R2 soldering some old, shoddy wiring while Chewie had been busy replenishing the fuel cells. With his attention elsewhere she could work unimpeded, otherwise his big, fuzzy, over-protective nose would have been over her shoulder for every move she made. She'd been startled by a loud thump up above, and had come within a hair's width of burning the tip of her nose on the searing end of R2's soldering instrument. After banging her head on the lip of the false floor while trying to see if the Wookiee had re-entered the ship, she'd emerged face to face with the soles of Finn's boots. Beside them rested a packed ruck sack where it'd landed after he'd tossed it on board.

"What's... tha- "

"You said you needed volunteers. I'm coming with you."

"Oh! Okay, grea-"

"No, no, I've made up my mind, Rey, don't even try to stop me."

"No, really, I could use the- "

"I know you're strong and independent and a fully grown adult woman capable of doing whatever," he'd waved a hand in the air, "whatever you, uh...oh. I, uh... heh," he'd then rubbed the back of his neck, "I didn't expect that to work."

"Don't get me wrong, Chewie's great, but..."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," he'd said as he'd offered her his other hand to pull her back up to the cargo level. "He's not as handsome as me, I get it."

Rey had laughed for what'd felt like the first time in years. "You know, I sometimes wonder what girl Wookiees think of him? I never hear him talk about one..."

"I'm sure he's got a hot piece of Wookiee nookie in every port."

"Speaking of," Rey'd chuckled, "what does Rose think of you flying off in a marked ship?"

"Rey." Finn had cocked his head at her in disdain before jutting a thumb into his chest. "I am a Hero of the Resistance." He'd shook his head with a self-effacing laugh before adding, "Seriously, though. I love what I have with her. In the beginning it was this new and exciting little... thing, you know? And now it's bigger... it's a reason to live, but it's also something worth fighting for. Do you know what I mean?"

"I think so..." She'd tried to suppress the memory of the last thing she'd fought for... and failed.

"It's just that," he continued, "it seems everyone here has a job. Something they're good at, something they bring to the table. Rose is the head mechanic, and her work speaks for itself. Poe is... well, he's the head of everything. He's got his lieutenants, he's got his pilots, he's got his radar techs, he's got people on incoming and outgoing transmissions. We're a small group, but we've got all the bases covered - he's even made the protocol droid cook." R2 beeped in amusement. "So unless we're infiltrating First Order property through a sanitation system, I'm afraid all I've got to offer is my mostly-average ability to shoot a moving target." He'd shrugged and added, "That and I make a pretty decent pack mule."

"And you're good company," Rey'd agreed, jumping back down below deck. She'd known what he felt like. Force sensitivity was a spectacular marvel to be certain, but in a practical sense, unless she was lifting rocks or helping Rose slap a bunch of junk together to make something work, she'd been concerned she was more in the way than she was helping. Going on this mission just felt... useful. "I'm glad you're here. While I'm finishing up, do you mind giving me a hand with those?" She'd pointed to a short stack of crates carrying non-perishables, munitions, and a few canisters of spare fuel and coolant. "Chewie can sometimes get a bit hamfisted with the controls. Don't need 'em rolling everywhere."

"Sure," Finn had begun, before getting to work. He'd grunted, lifting something heavy above his head before yanking the stowing straps over the object to secure it in place. "So..." The pause had hung uncomfortably in the air. Rey had known it was coming - there was no possible way he wasn't going to ask. "What did Poe mean when he talked about you ending a connection you have with Kylo Ren?"

"I, uh..." How could she have even started to explain? She hadn't known Finn long, but they'd grown so close in that amount of time. The same, however, could have been said about her clandestine, stolen moments making strangely civil, if not pleasant, conversation with... him. Just him. What had begun as sort of a disgusting little nuisance she'd been worried would never go away had turned into something that she, too, had felt was weirdly... exciting and new. Something she still didn't want to identify had fluttered in her belly whenever she'd heard his voice from behind her, or whenever his tall, dark frame had wandered into her line of sight, unbidden. It'd been convenient to believe the feeling had been caused by the hope the war could've ended amicably between only the two of them. But the truth was... it'd also been something else. Something undeniable... maybe slightly maternal. Something shifting and nameless. Something she'd never known. Something not... entirely designed by the Force.

She'd been most afraid of describing the nature of that Force bond to Finn. She remembered fearing he would misunderstand and think she'd been cavorting with the enemy or even worse, accuse her of being a traitor. She'd also feared he'd feel that the importance of their own relationship had diminished for her somehow, that somehow it meant less to her, or that maybe he would believe that she got something out of this connection with... him through the Force that Finn couldn't give her. Her friendship with Finn was the first like it that she'd ever really experienced in her life - she'd been terrified of losing it. But as she'd retold the stories of what it had been like to see Ky... him for the first time, and every time after that until the last time when she'd closed the door on him and they'd left Crait for open space, and she was able to admit at last what she'd endured during Leia's funeral, Finn had only whistled through his teeth from where he'd sat, legs crossed, on the lip of the cargo deck.

"Girl," he'd admonished with a good-natured snicker, "You've got a real problem right there. I thought I had it rough..." She should have known her fears were misplaced. In truth, it'd been like a weight was lifted from her shoulders having finally been able to confide her secret in her best friend.

"I know!" Rey replied. "But if we could see each other - really see - see all of our surroundings and then actually touch each other... then there was no telling what else he'd be able to do. He's kind of a, a... a Force nerd. He's curious and experimental - he'd find a way to find us, Finn, I know it, I could... I could just feel it. And even though he'd only tried to brute force the barrier just the once, he was so strong... It took everything I had to keep him out. But every other time he was... different. Just... different. I don't really know how to explain it, what it was like... what he was like..."

"Heh, yeah... I do," Finn responded.

"What do you mean?"

He'd tilted his head at her and given her a droll glare from beneath his heavy brow. "Oh, come on, Rey, don't be dense."

"What? I don't... I don't know what you- "

"Rey. Really. You're both force users, you've both got some family issues, and now you've got this connection. He's dark side, you're light... he's a boy, you're a girl... you know..."

She could only give him a blank stare.

"Oh for stars' sake, Rey!" Finn had thrown his hands in the air in exasperation, "Come on! You can't hear yourself when you talk? He's in love with you!"

"WHAT?!"

"Yes!"

"NO! No, no no no no... NO!"

"I'm telling you, Rey - he's a guy. I'm a guy. I know how he thinks, how he works. He's a guy having some alone time talking to a girl. Trust me, he's absolutely gutted over you."

"No. You're crazy. No way."

" _Yes_ , Rey, seriously, listen. This is a guy who left his training - under Luke friggin' Skywalker I might add - because Snoke told him to. This is a guy who destroyed a Jedi temple because Snoke told him to. This is a guy who gave in to the dark side because Snoke told him to, ordered the murder of whole villages of innocent people because Snoke told him to, stood there and watched a monstrous killing machine claim millions of innocent lives because Snoke. Told. Him. To. This is a guy who sent tie fighters after his mother... because Snoke told him to.

"Rey, this is a guy who killed his own father..." he'd paused to let it sink in, "because Snoke told him to. But Rey... stars forbid Snoke dares to touch a single hair on your pretty little head. Kylo Ren has absolutely no problem letting Snoke twist and mold him into this, this ... this perfectly obedient, I dunno, raging murder-droid. But you? That - _that_ ," he waggled a finger at her, "is the straw that broke the gundark's back. _That_ is apparently where the line was drawn and woah! Suddenly it's too far? It is, Rey - that is where he finally snaps and rebels against his master. So you tell me, why do you think that is?"

"I just think he reached a point where enough was enough."

"Sure, I imagine that's part of it, but- "

"And I don't know if he'd ever really had someone to just... talk to, you know? Someone who would give him the dignity of a response, and sort of... validate him as a person, I guess, and his feelings..."

"Exactly. He'd let you do more than validate him."

"Finn, stop it!" She threw a greasy rag at him. "That doesn't mean there's anything else going on. Last I checked, he seems pretty mad at me, don't you think!?"

"Of course he is. You're with the Resistance! He had everything he thought you could ever want - he offered you the whole galaxy, least of all himself, and you said no. It wasn't enough to get you to leave us and stay with him."

"Finn, we both know I couldn't just..."

"Of course you couldn't Rey, and deep down I think he knew better too. But what I'm saying is - and you even said it yourself - for a while, you gave him something that... he'd probably never really had before. Look. Rose came along and gave me something I've never had before, too. I was falling apart, Rey," his voice had gotten softer, and he'd looked down at his hands. "I was scared. I was a Stormtrooper alone in the middle of the Resistance. I was a traitor to the First Order. There was no place safe in the galaxy. I just wanted to live - I was petrified. And I was ashamed of it. But this tiny little thing with a button nose and silky, black hair came along and gave me a purpose - gave me courage. When she kissed me, Rey..." he'd tipped his head back and smiled with his eyes closed. "Oh, Rey, it was like I'd been asleep my whole life, and was suddenly woken up.

"There's a short list of things a man wouldn't do for a woman. I would never betray the Resistance. I'd never ask her to betray the Resistance. I would never give up our friends," he'd added with a wink. "But everything else, Rey, is _everything_ a man would do... the lengths he would go to... what he would endure to keep her safe... and, really, just keep her.

"All I'm saying is that it's possible you're something he didn't want to lose. And somehow he had to prove that to you - show you the lengths he'd be willing to go to. Show you he was willing to fight for you."

"But he wasn't willing to give up everything." And he shouldn't have. Thinking on it, she'd understood - she'd felt exactly the same way.

"No... no he wasn't. But, damn..." Pushing his hands on his knees Finn had stood up, and then bent at the middle in laughter. "That's just... damn. I'm sorry, I'm not laughing at you I swear..."

"Finn..."

"You fell for the old honey pot trick! Except this time _Kylo Ren_ was the honey pot! HAHA!" He'd rubbed at his eyes with the fingers and thumb of one hand. "I swear, this galaxy keeps getting weirder and weirder."

"It's not very funny, Finn," Rey had droned at him.

"I know, I know, you're right, I'm sorry. Just be careful with this one, okay? This is really dangerous. The guy is a killer - he's more than a little psychotic. Setting boundaries with him, and shutting him out, is the right thing to do, but treat him with kid gloves, okay?" From there he'd turned back to his duties. "I mean, I know you're strong enough to handle him yourself, but if you need me to, you know I'll... what am I saying, I don't really know what I'd do."

"The human spine can only beat so many odds, Finn," she'd mumbled numbly, but she could only stand and stare dumbfounded at the revelation, suddenly replaying every interaction she'd ever had with... him through her mind over and over, looking for clues she'd missed before. Snoke had said he'd bridged their minds - was he responsible for his... for... for Ben's feelings too? Was Finn right, were they even real? Hadn't Snoke said something about Ben being too weak to resist? And that she'd been naive enough to take the bait? She had fallen for the honey pot trick... But what would have happened if Ben had given everything up? What would have happened if he'd gone with her instead? Would that even have been right? R2, eager to return to their own task, had woken her from her pointless reverie by prodding her with a grabbing arm.

"Yes, yes, I know," she'd chided the anxious droid, clipping back another exposed patch and getting to work. Once the smoke had started rising from the wiring again and her mind had started to clear, she'd called back out to her friend.

"Finn?"

"Yeah?"

"Have you told Rose you love her?"

He'd been silent for a time before stammering, "I... I, uh..."

"You should, Finn. Where we're going... you heard Poe. It's gonna be dangerous."

"... you mean, like... now? Like, _now_ now?"

"Unless you want me to tell her at your funeral..."

"Jedi friends are supposed to keep you alive..." she'd heard him mutter on his way down the exit ramp. Forty-five minutes later he'd returned, slightly disheveled and with his shirt inside out, but nonetheless ready to depart. With Chewie back on board, their cargo safely stowed and the small budget Poe had allotted them secured and accounted for, they'd hugged and kissed their goodbyes and made haste on fair solar winds to Bespin.

She'd expected to touch down on a moon, like Arturo 24, with a colony that was only just comically named "Cloud City." But when Chewbacca had angled the nose of the Falcon to allow the heat sinks on her ventral fuselage to handle the friction of descending through the atmosphere of the gas giant, Rey had glued herself to the front view port. The city had been like nothing she'd ever seen, splitting the veil of those thick, swirling clouds with tall, glittering antenna towers and shining, mirrored domes. It was rich and clean and dreamy and perfect. Something about it had made her feel like a princess.

"We're... going there?" she'd blurted, her eyes peeled and absorbing the sight of it. Chewie had only mewled a curt affirmation - he'd clearly grown uneasy about the visit in spite of his previous enthusiasm. The time had come for a game face and a little defensive flying. He'd come in high, but had banked low at the last minute in an effort to avoid the notice of too many prying eyes as they'd circled around the city. He'd sent out a burst of short-range transmissions announcing the Falcon's call sign and requesting permission to shore up on Lando Calrissian's private residential landing pad. When the smoke and dust had settled, Rey had immediately exited the ship to find a tall, dark man in regal dress with a long, billowing cape purposefully approaching them with measured, agitated stomps. Clearly he had not been pleased to see them. She'd been dismayed to discover that this man, who had been waving his hand at them in a gesture that obviously meant go away was indeed Lando Calrissian.

"Chewie!" he'd called out at them. "Have you lost your mind?! What the hell are you doing here with that thing?" By "that thing" she'd correctly assumed he'd been referring to the Falcon. "Where's Han? Lemme talk to him - is he with you? There's no way Leia would let him do something this stupid."

Oh. Right. Yes, that'd been why Chewie had grown so terse. Saving the Wookiee the confrontation, she'd stepped forward and jabbed a hand out in greeting between herself and their newly arrived, yet hesitant, benefactor.

"Are you Lando Calrissian?" she'd asked, her shoulders back and chin held high. The look he'd given her as he'd scanned her up and down was nothing short of incredulous. He'd huffed a grunt at her, ignoring her hand, then turned back to Chewbacca.

"Chewie, what's going on here?"

"Han and Leia are dead." She'd heard the words leave her mouth, but couldn't remember forming them. That had gotten Calrissian's attention, however. She'd cast her eyes to the ground before adding, "both of them." He'd stared at her for a long moment, his mouth open and hand raised to possibly make another futile gesture. He'd taken a step closer to her and knitted his eyebrows together, stealing back her gaze and piercing her with his own as if through sight alone he could have separated the truth from a lie.

"Chewie, is that true...?" he'd asked over his shoulder, his eyes never leaving hers. Chewbacca had merely simpered an indiscernible response before sauntering away to attach the docking coils. Rey had swallowed the knot in her throat and had willed the tears that were already forming in her eyes to sink back where they belonged. She'd taken a breath to steady herself before she continued.

"It's true. There aren't many of us left. Leia told us to find you, before she... well. She told us you could help us." Calrissian had let his hand fall back to his side as he'd brought the other to his face. "My name is Rey, Mr. Calrissian, and I'm here on behalf of the Resistance. I've studied under Luke Skywalker..." it hadn't entirely been a lie, although "study" might have been a strong word to use.

"Luke!" he'd gasped, breaking her train of thought. "You've found Luke? You have him?"

"No... we, uh... He's... gone now, too. I - I'm so sorry." The more she'd spoke, the worse it had sounded, even to her own ears.

Lando Calrissian's jaw had worked wordlessly, and Rey watched as sadness etched its way across his face. She'd also begun to notice small details about the man - the white in the hair that had graced his temples, the lines carved into the corners of his eyes and mouth. Clear signs of the passing of time and the wars of the past. The Skywalkers' wars. Wars they'd survived together, and now he was alone. He'd stumbled slightly as he'd turned from her and wandered to the edge of the platform to peer across at the misty, moving horizon and the vast emptiness beneath.

"Decades of peace, and now it's all gone. How did they...? You know what? Nevermind. I don't think I want to know." He'd been quiet for a long solemn moment, just breathing and watching traffic move, drowning in memories. Rey remembered feeling like she should say something, but she couldn't have conjured the right words. When he did speak again, his voice had been thin and pained. "I think I've always known, deep inside, that this day could come. Would come. Even if I didn't quite believe it. And I wish I could help you, kid, I really do. If for no other reason than to... stars, to give their loss some meaning or something. I just... we saved the galaxy once together, you know. Did you know that, Rey Who Trained With Luke Skywalker?" He'd turned to face her again. "Those were... hard times. But I guess you wouldn't remember Vader, would you...? Hard times. And now... oh. Oh I just can't... I can't believe it." He'd turned a slow circle, kneading the muscles in the back of his neck. "All gone... they're all gone... damn. Look, okay? Look. We can't talk out here, and you can't stay long. It's just... it's complicated. But I'll do what I can okay? It's not much, but I'll do what I can. Come with me."

Chewbacca and R2 had chosen to remain with the Falcon, but Finn had followed her and the enigmatic Lando Calrissian inside his colossal Cloud City home. She'd only had a moment, however, to peer through an ornate glass foyer door into the luxuriously furnished sitting room beyond as they'd passed through a busy kitchen area and another corridor that opened out onto a smaller docking bay on the opposite side of the residence. Floating and tethered by exhaust coils and fuel lines, gleaming in the sunlight as lovely and innocuous as a picture, had been the wind catamaran, the Twilight Zephyr. A silent footman had stepped lively to fire up her ignition and prepare her for travel, per his duties.

"Your ship is a wanted ship," Calrissian had begun, "and I don't know if you know what I do here."

"Something about mining a gas," Finn had answered

"Tibanna gas, to be precise. Useful for a lot of different things, but most notably as a coolant for hyperdrive engines. Which a lot of ships have, sure, but... star destroyers and dreadnoughts use an awful lot of it."

"No..." Rey had lost her breath and staggered backwards a step, punched in the gut by the mistake she'd then realized she'd made. "... You - you're..."

"Look- "

"How could you- "

"It's okay, Rey," Finn had said meeting her elbow, the edge to his voice sounding anything other than okay, "that's the way this galaxy works now. People have to look out for themselves, right? I mean, no one else is going to, so we should just turn on our own and do the same. We should never have- "

"Now you look here!" Lando had protested indignantly. "Your General's group of rebels had made me a general once! You think the Death Star just blew itself up? We all put in our hard work, kid, we all risked our lives! You literally just sign yourselves up yesterday and you think you've got this all figured out? What do you need me for then? Stars! Tell me this - how old are you son?"

"I... I don't really..."

"Yeah, that's what I thought." He'd been aching for the loss of his friends more than he'd been angry. "Let me educate you on a finer point then, young man. War is risk. But you can't win a war if you can't define the line between which risk is acceptable and which one isn't. I run a very lucrative business here. It makes me enough money that folks tend to look the other way when a little bit gets laundered and trafficked to help fund your Resistance. It also puts me in very close proximity to the enemy we're trying to keep tabs on. I have to shake a lot of hands, and as long as I keep this smile on my face and my position neutral, then the risk is one I consider acceptable. Wouldn't you agree?" Finn could only bite his lip and nod from the admonishment. "But you bring that ship here and you might as well come and plant a sign in my front yard that reads, 'Big, Fat Rebel Right This Way!' What do you think that does for your Resistance?" Remaining mute had been the best option. "That is Kylo Ren's father's ship. Ben broke his first bone on that ship, climbing out of the gunnery turret - he wasn't even six years old. There might even still be a scorch mark on her starboard side, mixed with all the other ones, when Chewie was trying to teach him how to shoot a blaster straight. Kylo Ren knows that ship better than he knows the back of his hand, better than either one of you two. And he knows who I am. Do you know how he knows?"

"Because of his parents," Rey could only answer dumbly.

"Because of his parents," Lando had repeated like an irritated teacher speaking to his class dunce. "Because of this thing right here," he'd placed a hand on the catamaran and had given her a good pat. "This is the Twilight Zephyr. This thing is a classic - it's been in my family a long time and it's been kept up real nice. It's been a project of mine since I was a teenager - I've replaced a lot of parts on her, made a lot of customizations. She doesn't fare out in space, she's not made for it, but in atmo she screams - isn't a thing in the known universe that'll catch 'er. Ben was supposed to be like a godson to me, in lieu of Luke. Because of that, the Zephyr was supposed to be my gift to him, when he came of age, and was old enough to learn how to drive 'er. He's even been here, been on board once, when Leia paid me an official visit on Republic business. Stood right here," he'd stepped aboard and stopped in front of the flight controls and instrument panel, still in view with the convertible top back, "let me hold him right here. Took 'er for a spin - I'd kept her moving slow while his tiny hands could barely fit around the stick.

"What I'm saying is, the kid is family to me. Cloud City is family, the Millennium Falcon is family. A family the dark side of the Force wants him to destroy with his Troopers and war ships and guns. And you brought that thing here."

The footman had remained a still sentinel to the side of the Zephyr's entryway, more a part of the furniture than a casual observer. Lando Calrissian had sighed one more time and supported himself on the man's shoulder as he'd departed the craft to stand before them again, hands pressed into his hips.

"I have been a part of this Resistance a lot longer than either of you two realize. And I know you're still reeling from Leia's... from... from her loss. No one knows that better than I do. Right now you're scared and alone, trying to piece together the cash flow, the connections, the supply chain that had been freely given to you by her influence, and her husband's to some extent. And now that's all gone. But the time for grief is when the war is over.

"Take the Zephyr."

"What...?" Rey'd asked, confused.

"Take her. Ben Solo is never coming back for her. And if you're going to conduct business here, you need to be doing it in something that isn't the Millennium Falcon."

"What kind of - where should we- "

"Relax. I can get you contacts that will help you re-establish the connections for things you need. I'll tell you where to go. And for now - _for now_ \- you can stash the Falcon in the north refinery. It's the biggest one I've got on this level, it's a distribution hub. It's packed pretty tight right now, there's a shipment due out, but there should be room. You've only got three days, though, before cargo freighters start arriving to move inventory. She cannot be there when they get here, got it?"

"Three days," Rey had repeated, not wishing to take the man's kindness for granted.

"That's right. Three. Days." He'd been firm on the point. "Get done what you need to get done. Sell the Zephyr for all I care, she's worth a lot of money, and I'd rather see it go to... toward Leia's blood, sweat, and tears rather than just collect dust in some old garage somewhere. Then you get the Falcon and you get it out of here. If you can't get her gone in three days, I have no choice but to open fire on her and I would hope you can understand why."

"Of course."

"Three days."

"Yes. Three days. Thank you so much." Rey hadn't known what else to say, her head had been swimming. She'd been grateful to Lando Calrissian for help in replenishing their beleaguered coffers and stores, but she hadn't really known where to start when it came to figuring out how to hide an entire starship, short of burying it back on the sands of Jakku... which she hadn't entirely ruled out. On that point, they'd been back to square one.

But the universe, or fate, or the Force or whatever had an entirely different idea in mind.

* * *

Rey snapped her head up when the bright flare of blaster fire on the platform caught her eye. That could only be... she put her knee in her seat on the Zephyr and brought up a hand to shield her eyes. The arc of Chewie's bowcaster was unmistakable, as was the closely pursuing small herd of white Stormtrooper helmets. They'd briefly weaved into view before diving away into a darkened alley, but Rey could still hear the telltale screams of passersby that had heralded their appearance.

"Where... where did they..."

"North, Rey - they're headed north."

To the Falcon. They were already found out, there was no sense not to, and if they wanted to have any prayer of ditching these goons in open space, the Falcon was their best chance, even with... him up there, breathing down their necks. They could hide the ship after they escaped with it. They'd done it at least twice before, they could do it again. Rey clutched at the strap of the small satchel she carried on her shoulder - the contents inside were precious. The anonymous contact they'd met in the market had come through with several items - laundered credit chits with the tracer headers carefully edited, and an encrypted datapad containing a list of supply contacts and a star chart marked with available safe houses. No matter what happened, as long as that satchel made it off the planet, then the trip was worth the risk.

That was it, then - the line between what risk was acceptable and what wasn't. That was the philosophy of war. It was the wheel that kept the machine turning over. Everything else was expendable.

Which became cruelly evident when they reached the north refinery where they'd parked the Millennium Falcon. This time, to remain inconspicuous, they did calmly and carefully pull the Zephyr up alongside, further down the platform and out of sight while they waited to see if Chewbacca and R2 would pop out into the open. They were ready, blasters in hand but held low - they did their best to maintain the appearance of two people who were just consulting GPS coordinates having only gotten a little bit turned around. The scream of tie fighter jets split the sky as three of them in delta formation streaked past the refinery. The faint echo of shots in the distance ricocheted down the walkways that lead to the platform.

"Should we..." Finn began.

"No, hold position."

"Whites of their eyes?"

"Something like that." She didn't want to give the dock workers any reason for alarm... at least not prematurely. Although the parading retinue of tie fighters might have been a slight giveaway. "I just hope they don't..."

"They'll make it here, they've made it this far."

"Of course... I, I know, you're right," she agreed with little confidence.

But moments later, true to Finn's words, R2 exploded out onto the walkway at a precarious angle with at least one locomotive track spinning in open air. He was smoking and loudly screeching in protest as Chewbacca leapt out behind him, twisting at the waist and firing as many shots behind him as his great lumbering gait would allow.

"Now?" poked Finn impatiently.

"NOW!"

Rey's feet left the Zephyr just as the trailing Troopers burst out behind them in hot pursuit, raining down a torrent of blaster fire all around them. A little space was what they needed to give them the better advantage - she used the Force to push an invisible wall toward the mob, sending them sprawling to the ground in one uncoordinated mass and deflecting their shots to be discharged in countless different directions.

"RUN!" she yelled, firing her own volley of shots behind her, the satchel on her back bouncing with every step. But then, out of nowhere, was a high pitched whistle, then a boiling, blazing white flash of light. Her teeth cracked together as she landed on her back and her head hit the ground, her ears deafly ringing as she lost all sense of the world around her. There was nothing - no sight, no sound, no feeling - but the staticky white buzzing whine in her head that started tight and intense, like a frequency almost outside the range of hearing, but grew and grew before it became jet engines and booms and crashing and people shouting. Finn... Finn was shouting...

"Rey! REY! Get up! We've gotta go! Come ON!"

She sucked in a hot, acrid smoky breath of surprise when she felt hands grip her under her arms and yank to her feet. She blinked and shook her head to clear her vision - it was Finn pulling her up. She lifted her eyes to... to...

To the crushed and flaming, ruinous void where the north refinery - and the Millennium Falcon - used to be.

"No..." she whispered, utterly shell-shocked. The trio of tie fighters swooped past again, almost as if they were boasting a victory lap, admiring their handiwork. She raised a hand to weakly and ineffectually point at the collapsing shell of the structure, stunned in complete dismay. "No... it was right there..." Somewhere nearby Chewbacca was roaring in a way she'd never heard before. It bordered on death wish. She flinched when another explosion followed by another shook her feet and blasted her face with scorching heat and ash. Only then was she made aware that blaster fire was still pinging and bouncing off the walkway next to her.

"Tibanna gas is flammable, Rey!" Finn shouted to remind her, prompting her to scramble back to her senses. "It's not done going up!"

They were trapped between a hot place and an even hotter place. The Twilight Zephyr was now their only means of escape, and between them and it stood a small army of well-armed and confident Stormroopers. They could mourn their losses later. The satchel on her back had to get off-planet - they had to make it, there were simply no other options. A plan hatched in her mind. The plan was so crazy, she didn't even bother terrifying anyone by explaining it. She just acted.

Rey closed her eyes, turned, and dropped to one knee, reaching out with her mind - with the Force. She felt through the burning wreckage of the refinery on the platform. One bursting barrel was all she needed. She found one easily - the metal of the drum so hot it was beginning to glow, and its contents heated to the point that the container's structural integrity could no longer withstand the pressure. It was a bomb with a short fuse. It was perfect. She flung it.

Her projectile landed in the middle of the walkway, between them and their assailants. The detonation set off when it touched down was nothing short of beautiful, even celebratory in a way - a fiery testament to violence and mayhem as a means to a much needed end. It was sweet revenge. The walkway fell away beneath them into pieces that fluttered like sharp feathers on Bespin's calm, balmy breezes - carried away by the gentle conveyor belt that made up their section of the atmosphere. She ignored Finn and his squealing panicked obscenities beside her, and enjoyed the briefest moment watching all of the Troopers that had only moments earlier been threatening to shoot them dead where they stood disappear below, swallowed whole by buttery pink, cotton-candy-like clouds. But then, the moment over and their own descent rapidly reaching the point of heart failure, she reached out and pulled with all of her might, never relenting until the deck of the Twilight Zephyr was safely beneath their feet.

"I'm never volunteering to go anywhere with you ever again!" Finn declared loudly as his knees gave out, planting his butt firmly down into one of the Zephyr's plush seats. He sat with his face palmed, hiccuping and trying to keep from throwing up. Rey had assumed that Chewie would quickly step up to the Zephyr's controls, but when she turned to face him she could plainly see he was in no such state. He was nearly catatonic, barely standing and swaying alarmingly back and forth with both fists tightly balled in the hair on his head. He'd been pushed too far. They all had. She stepped forward then and took over, zipping them away from the hollowed, smoldering remains of the Millennium Falcon before those cursed tie fighters had the chance to circle back and take shots at them next.

They had bigger problems now, than grieving the loss of the Falcon. Their escape plan was gone. Their speed was gone. Their fire power was gone. Everything was gone... everything - their extraction, their naivety, their illusions. All gone, all of it. Everything except the satchel on her back. As she eased the catamaran back into traffic, watching emergency craft fly the opposite direction to sort through the destruction of the north refinery, she nursed her broken heart and hoped the price they'd paid - the risk they'd taken - would be enough.

* * *

The Supreme Leader's private shuttle hovered above the scene, far enough away to remain relatively unseen and unphased, yet not so far as to have had an unclear vantage point. As orange plumes of smoke and debris billowed into the sky, General Hux moved to stand shoulder to shoulder with Lord Ren. The man exhibited an icy air of cold satisfaction as he watched the platform crumble and his father's ship melt into a puddle of ruined plasteel and metal. He was successful, yes, in dealing a serious blow to the Resistance while stroking his own selfish desire for profitless vengeance. But there had been no need in summoning the greater bulk of the First Order fleet simply to deal with one ship. Hux understood the value in keeping up appearances, particularly when dealing with rebels, but this trip had ended up resulting in a stupid and embarrassing amount of unforeseen cost. Especially considering that group of rebels was scarcely more than extinct, and not one single intercepted transmission in the whole of the galaxy had resembled anything close to coming to their aid. That didn't mean there weren't any, but nothing that could allow Hux to reconcile a show of force to this magnitude. That refinery had been the largest on this level, and it certainly wasn't empty.

"I want every port occupied," Ren's soft, measured tone meted out its orders. Without any casual inflection he stated, "heads will roll if they make it out of orbit. Bring us down. I will be there when we find them." He turned to take his seat but then hesitated, pausing to watch the girl below skate the catamaran away from where one of the connecting walkways used to be, and deftly ease it into a busy stream of traffic. Before she disappeared completely, she looked up and Hux could have sworn her eyes had locked with Ren's. His face never changed. He merely took his seat and allowed his pilot to do his bidding.

Like a super powered imbecile whose position at the head of the Order was ornamental at best.

Ren was abhorrently ignorant of the real chaos this little stunt of his had caused. Hux recalled something Jantho the Hutt had said. _Force users, they're so arrogant, they think this is all about them_. Cleaning up the mess in the north refinery was just the beginning of their problems. Meanwhile, Ren's war machine would destroy everything in its path until he had the girl. Hux gripped his buzzing data pad tightly against his thigh while his own face remained impassive and tight-lipped over his frenzied emotions. His mind was swimming with damage control - he knew he was already receiving messages from Calrissian, threatening at the very least to impose sanctions until they could provide recompense for the inventory they'd cost him. At the most Hux was certain they'd be forced to re-examine their contract and negotiate a means to prevent such actions as these from taking place in the future. In short, there was no way the relationship between Cloud City and the First Order was going to remain unchanged, and changes would not lean in their favor. Beyond that, Hux also knew he was receiving calls from the head of the Exchange Syndicate - the group of grey market brokers that allowed them to skim additional supplies from Calrissian unnoticed, circumventing the already heavy tariffs the man placed on his very necessary product. Between them, the Hutts, the entire spice trade, the Merchants' Guild, and even other more illicit organizations that traded in slaves or illegal substances - anyone, really, who had any sort of dependency on the stores of Tibanna gas that just became a part of Bespin's upper stratosphere - Hux was now certain there would be a Mandalorian with his name hiding around every shadowy corner.

This trend was alarming and serious, and totally predictable. He couldn't afford to cut any corners... but the plan would have to be accelerated somehow. He wasn't sure how much longer he could last.


	6. Ch 6: Conquest and Enemies

**Ch 6 Conquest and Enemies**

War is a machine.

"Hah," Hux thought to himself, "maybe in a vacuum." Stripped to its barest elements, war was conquest, and conquest was required to reap the resources that were used to pay for that conquest. In that circular sense, yes, its engine was internally combusting, and it was always moving itself forward.

Or at least it should be, in theory. Variables like Kylo Ren were quirky, disastrous little linchpins that could bring momentum to a halt if pulled. And Hux didn't know how to live in a world where the machine wasn't turning over. He didn't want to know how. This was his legacy, his father's legacy, and the legacy of so many like him in the unforgiving ranks of the First Order. Conquest was everything they'd worked so hard to achieve. It was their prime directive. It was the nuts and bolts that held them together - it was the fuel that kept them going.

But Kylo Ren wasn't like them. He wasn't one of them, not really. Being given up by your mother wasn't the same thing as having been stolen from her. Not like the hundreds of thousands of Troopers they kept in their envoy, who trained in heavy combat from the time their arms were big enough to hold a weapon for longer than an hour. Not like the officers who were learning languages, reading transmissions, and performing complex calculations since they were scarcely more than children. Kylo Ren came to them a man - a young man, but a man nonetheless. A young man neglected by absentee parents and betrayed by a famous uncle, but still inarguably a man. His family legacy was soaked in the Force, obsessed with Jedi - his goals only semantically fell in alignment with theirs when the Order suited his needs. They were only a vehicle to Kylo Ren, and murdering his father wasn't enough to make him one of them, no matter how much Snoke had tried to elevate him to the position.

Kylo Ren was the weak link.

Hux had all the proof of that he needed as he stood, baking in the heat watching rescue workers fail to stop the north refinery from burning. The long shadow his tall, straight frame drew upon the ground was statuesque and unwavering, much like the man who cast it. He was merely biding his time while he watched his Supreme Leader poke and prod the wreckage, unphased by the danger. Hux could only pray for an errant and astronomically lucky barrel to explode at precisely the right moment to rid the entire First Order of its biggest problem, but he knew the Makers would never bless him so. Instead, he remained calm and still, rigid with discipline, while Ren directed first responders and medical personnel, and revelled in his glorious handiwork. Like he was proud of it. Like the corpse of his father's ship was worth this level of catasrophe.

Snoke would have remained on the flagship, preferring to overindulge in exaggerating himself with the holoprojector. Everyone had their hobbies... But Snoke would never have fired the shots to begin with. Snoke would never have bothered with Bespin - he knew how to prioritize, and he would never have concerned himself with the buzzing of flies. He certainly would never have shot off his own foot to do so. He knew the difference between a gnat and a swarm. Snoke had no trouble seeing the big picture, and was adept at channeling his frustrations into far more productive means. Snoke made no claim to be a Sith, but he was a far better facsimile than Kylo Ren. And he was right - Ren did have too much of his father in him. Han Solo had been a capricious man in spite of his worthy achievements. He was a twitchy finger on a hair pin trigger with no safety. And no surprise, his fruit did not fall far from the tree.

Kylo Ren snapped his head around suddenly enough Hux feared perhaps the man could sense his thoughts. It wasn't entirely outside the realm of possibility... But then, true to the spooky premonition, an attache appeared at Hux's shoulder. Before the officer could deliver his message, Ren began stalking a hasty approach toward them. Hux held up two fingers to silence the man until their Supreme Leader had joined them.

"They've been spotted," Ren wasted no time in guessing upon his arrival, his cloak still swirling around his ankles.

"Sir," the officer snapped to attention in the presence of his superiors, "a Wookiee was reported to have been seen crossing Three Arches Pavilion in the south west quadrant of the city, not long ago."

"Was he alone?" Ren asked.

"The report made no mention," the officer answered, "it only went on to say that no attempts to make contact on known Resistance channels appear to have been made at this time."

" _Known_ channels..." Ren mumbled to himself.

"It would be wise to avoid any contact at all, on any channel of any kind," Hux had suggested.

"It would've been wise," Ren stated, "to have jettisoned that ship into wild space before ever showing up planet-side with it, no matter how far away or how neutral."

"You don't think this was a decoy, do you?" Hux asked, dismissing the officer to return to his duties. "A diversion tactic?"

"No. They don't have the people or the resources to plan anything that would necessitate a diversion. Their fleet was reduced to nothing more than scrap metal - all they had left was that ship. This was an act of desperation."

"My Lord, the Death Star was taken by- "

"The Death Star has been a cloud of floating debris for over thirty years," Ren stated flatly as he tugged his gloves and coolly turned to gesture toward a waiting squad of Troopers. "Bespin is not a Death Star, Hux. It's a trade center. They came here for one reason. What's in the south west quadrant of the city?" he asked as he made to depart. "What would lure them there, if they know they're being chased?"

"Nothing my Lord. To my knowledge, it's an arts district, known for its night life and busking street musicians."

"Nothing then. The Wookiee is alone - a misdirection. Take me to the main departure port." He made it three paces away before pausing to twist at the waist and ask, "Hux... are you coming?"

"My Lord, would it not be prudent for someone to remain behind and oversee operations here?"

What happened next Hux could only describe as the kind of pain one experienced when drinking something cold too fast. The feeling of being stabbed started in his right eye and spread while Kylo Ren merely stared at him and bored a hole into his brain. The worst part was that Hux knew Ren was being... subtle. It was a gentle probe - a warning. He was suspicious of something, but if he knew exactly what he was suspicious of, he'd have had it already. And while he'd only briefly entertained the idea of sifting through his mind for this mysterious something, whatever it was was of lesser importance at that moment than capturing the scavenger girl before she left the planet and melted away once more into the bleak vastness of open space. He curtly nodded his assent before carting his squad of Troopers away on his private shuttle. When the roar of his jets had finally faded into background noise, Hux turned away from the refinery. He stepped to the edge of the walkway, and took a long introspective moment to watch workers try to build a temporary bridge over the one that had been destroyed in the fire fight. He clasped his hands lightly behind his back and let the cheery sunlight warm his face.

Bespin was the perfect place to commit a high profile murder. A body could disappear forever. It would only take one push. Or one well placed shot. He only required an alibi, an opportunity... and permission.

* * *

Kylo Ren opted to pilot his private vessel himself. For the greater bulk of his retreat from the refinery to the craft he'd deliberated back and forth, uncommitted, on which decision would be safer. If he'd opted to maintain the appearance of a Leader, requiring his subordinates to carry out the more menial task of piloting the shuttle, he'd have experienced a loss of control over the situation and presented himself as vulnerable as a passenger. Control was not something Ren would give up easily. And while the distraction of operating the controls in the cockpit did leave him open to attack from his own men, it also put him in a position where he could obfuscate his movements in a shroud of Force... and secretly retrieve the datapad he'd hidden there earlier.

Exhaustion tugged at his eyes and slowed his thoughts. Enemies were everywhere. He lay awake at night analyzing looks and conversations and hidden meanings, and searching for schemes within schemes. He didn't have the energy to spend on actions that weren't smart. The smooth facade of calm he plastered over his anxiety was enough to at least temporarily quiet the pestering little whisper that still called at him from the shadowy, forgotten corners of his own mind.

 _What do you want?_

He couldn't afford to lose it now. He had to maintain a death grip on what little sanity he had left. There was no room for failure on this.

If he could find the girl, he could end the Jedi. If nothing else was accomplished by his miserable slog through life, he could at least lay claim to that. She was right there right at that moment - there was no better time to strike. If he could manage to get that done and over with, he could move on. He could bury his past deeply within the sands of time where it belonged and just... walk away. March forward. He could then glean whatever information he could from the decrypted datapad and discreetly... dispatch Hux like the pestilence he was and work on systematically purging the First Order of the insurgent sect that had infected its ranks like a disease.

After that, the galaxy was his. It could finally be put to rights... whatever that meant. The concept of order was as nebulous and enigmatic as the very Force that drove his destiny.

 _What do you want?_

It was a breathy tickle at the base of his skull, a tap on the shoulder he struggled to ignore.

"Right now, a clear path forward," he thought to himself sardonically. And while he was really only thinking in metaphors, the crowded thoroughfare leading to the main departure port was anything but a clear path. With the datapad neatly tucked beneath his belt at the small of his back, securely hidden behind the fall of his heavy cloak, he waited for the back hatch of the shuttle to open once the craft touched down at their designated landing zone. He straightened his collar and tugged at his gloves once more while the squad of Troopers preceded him in rank and file, their retinue very publicly making no mystery that Lord Ren was about to disembark onto the causeway. It was a mixed blessing - while their efforts were very effective in bringing order to the chaos outside, neatly parting the crowd to allow him better, quicker access to the series of quays that comprised the main departure port, they also drew certain attention to his presence that he definitely did not prefer.

Hux's unexpected absence had left him unsettled. It gave the General plausible deniability, placing him with witnesses far, far away from the scene of any sort of... crime that may or may not take place. The Troopers had also alerted Rey to Ren's location while he still did not know hers. Not only had he lost the element of surprise, but she had inadvertently managed to gain the tactical advantage. It'd been freely handed to her by his own men. Unless, of course, the thinning mass of people allowed him to gain any sort of ground more quickly than she might have expected.

He took a step toward the ramp that exited onto the platform and swallowed thickly as a flare of panic blazed through him. His anticipation of immediate blaster fire aiming straight for his forehead was so strong that he hesitated, drawing a deep, shaky breath before he grounded himself once more in his training. There was purpose in hatred, but there was power in fear. It was a sort of cunning or agility of the mind; it was the stairway to a higher, preternatural state of awareness. Fear and meditation were two parts of the same weapon - while one was the hilt, the other was the blade. He set his jaw and squared his shoulders, and drew the hood of his cloak over his head, blanketing his face in darkness. With emboldened dutiful strides, he exited the vehicle.

And he never let his hand stray from the saber at his side.

Concealed within the black pall of his hood, he blinded himself to the sensation of eyes following him and judging him. Swallowing him. He deafened himself to the gasps and shouts and words that made up the buzzing monotony of sound that threatened to drown him. He did his best to deaden himself and filter his senses only through the Force. He reached out and out and out, around and forward as he walked - himself a looming ebon specter, fearsome in his ability to wield an unnatural and terrifying power.

He felt around him for thoughts and motives. He listened for curses or prayers or instructions that failed to remain hidden. He searched for the blaster aimed at his head or the child ready to throw a bomb in return for the money that would feed his siblings and sick mother. He peered around for the nervous stranger, a little too anxious to get off world.

And he looked for Rey.

He reached for that little shock once more - the bright and fuzzy little zap they both felt when they sensed the flow of the Force in each other, like a funny surge of energy pouring through a conduit. The stinging and painful little tie that still managed to unite them. All he had to do was close the distance. All he had to do was get his hand around her wrist. She was formidable and her strength was daunting to say the least, but he was ready for her. She had no saber. But he did. And when he found her he'd... He'd just...

If he could just tip the balance with numbers and find a way to overpower her, he could...

He could just...

If he could immobilize her before she spotted him, he could get her back to the ship and then...

And then he could...

 _What do you want?_

His father was gone. His mother was gone. His uncle was gone, and Snoke was gone. There was no way out but through - she had to go too. She was the last piece. He could do it - he could. He had to. He would slam his fist into the wound. He would hammer out his power from the pain. He would rage his conquest over the conflict within him once and for all - he would claim dominion over his own foolish and cruel sense of sentimentality. He would rise victorious and in the end he would ascend to become what the galaxy needed him to be. But he would find her first and then he would... he'd...

He'd do what he had to do. And he wouldn't stop to think about why this hurt him so badly in the first place.

* * *

"Hux! This isn't over - you and I are going to have a little chat!" Calrissian bellowed upon auspicious arrival, flinging a pointed finger as a pair of the General's subordinate lieutenants did their best to subdue and corral the man into settling on a calmer initial set of negotiations with them. Clearly he was having none of it, but Hux presented him no alternative as he feigned an imperial sort of indifference and turned to direct his own men instead. Water was expensive on a planet with no land mass, requiring complex systems to filter and collect it from an uncooperative atmosphere. It also wasn't terribly effective against a fire borne from this type of chemical compound, but the foamy flame retardant material they were using in its place had the same hefty price tag on it as the barrels of tibanna gas that were still burning in the wreckage. Hux was already treading a fine line between bringing resolution to the disaster and racking up even more insurmountable debt. There were still bodies of workers being recovered from the scene - some bagged in nothing more than pieces, others still alive but in tatters, screaming and moaning their agony. There were men and women running in all directions, and there were vehicles hovering and zooming around them like an insect hive. There were clearly marked and brightly lit medical craft to attend to the wounded, there were windowless unmarked floating wagons to carry off the dead, and there were larger, boxy cargo carriers to collect and dispose of debris and chemical waste. And throughout it all, while Hux alone was left at the epicenter to coordinate the entire effort, the number of vid calls buzzing against his thigh were becoming too persistent to ignore. He knew he would eventually need to carve out a slot of time for Calrissian, a good relationship with his enterprise was something precious to the First Order, but that time certainly wasn't now.

When the vibration against his leg had reached the fever pitch of a constant, ceaseless hum, he finally gave in to exasperation and excused himself to take the call out of sight within the cavernous opening of a waiting Trooper transport ship. Once out of earshot from the idling engines and nosy bystanders, he retrieved his pocket projector and answered the summons.

Immediately a pale, waxy figure popped into view, one belonging to an upper middle aged Twi'lek female. Her eyes were small, dark, and squinting, and the lines on her face pulled her mouth into a sour sort of perpetual frown. Her lekku were twisted and tightly bound by an elaborate sort of netting at the top of and behind her head, and her bony, austere figure was draped in a lush purple gown that removed any hint of the figure that likely tantalized young men in her youth. She was the kind of woman who had clearly clawed her way into power tooth and nail, and now she clung to it with a demure, ominous sort of ferocity that was best left alone. Her name was Xindi, and she was the current head of the Exchange Syndicate.

"Hux. Too busy to take my calls?" she sneered. "Better things to do?" She openly bore no pretense of love for humanity. The Exchange Syndicate, in its ancient history, had once traditionally been a strictly human-only organization in its upper echelon, but it relied heavily on labor performed on the backs of alien union workers - dock workers, freight and warehouse labor, ship crew for merchants and freighter captains, even providing muscle for "regulatory law enforcement." The Syndicate had worked closely with the official Merchants' Guild along with powerful cartel families and other aspects of the Trade Federation in order to conduct their business. They skimmed goods for lucrative grey and black market trade - things like metals and textiles, dry goods and spices, electronics, legal weaponry, even medical supplies. It was no secret, however, that they also dabbled in more illicit pursuits in order to bolster their bottom line - things like drugs, performance-enhancing adrenals, _illegal_ weaponry, and even live-body slave trading. The Syndicate experienced organizational changes long ago during an uprising by non-human union workers after a successful coup when their demands went ignored. Xindi's father hadn't been their first Twi'lek leader, but maybe their second. Xindi herself had assumed the mantle after her father had passed away... through means no one felt were probably worth mentioning. "Easily fifteen percent of the barrels in that refinery already belonged to me - I don't have to tell you what they were worth. I certainly hope you've spent this time avoiding me inventing a suitable reason why your men would see to have them completely vaporized." She lifted a hand to inspect her manicure, then lazily rolled a ring on her finger. "I had thought, up to this point, that we had achieved a mutually beneficial sort of... understanding."

"Of course your Excellency, and I do apologize for the delay - we were merely detained trying to salvage what we can, I do hope you can understand."

"What I don't understand, General Hux, is what my assets are doing on fire to begin with. This is a dangerous game you're playing if you're trying to- "

"If I may, madam," Hux held up a finger, and Xindi's eyebrows knitted together in foreboding menace at the rude interruption. "I'm certain you've been in business long enough to know the chaos an unpredictable element can cause."

"Forgive me if this sounds like you're trying to make an excuse."

"Your Excellency, this is far more serious than a simple excuse. This is a proposition. This is a chance for both of us to gain something better out of this... this very regrettable loss."

Nothing about the droll snuff of air through Xindi's sharp, angular nose suggested she was anything close to intrigued. But she was patient in any case.

"Go on," she stated plainly.

"I am willing to repay you twice the interest we're paying the Hutt Cartel on top of normal damages and reparations from the... the unfortunate set of circumstances here on Bespin. I am also willing to gift you a number of ships from our fleet. In return, I would ask your help in reasoning with the Hutts."

 _Reasoning?_ This was an unexpected request. This piqued her interest. While the Hutts were colleagues, they were also still competitors.

"With regards to what?"

"Eliminating our Supreme Leader, Lord Kylo Ren."

"Your 'unpredictable element,' I would guess," she smiled a reptilian hunter's smile. "I will say, Hux, when you go big, you go big. Your candor and your audacity are amusing. Your terms are attractive, yes, but I am offered terms like this every day. And I also know you can't afford your promises, not until you plant a few more First Order flags on the star chart. What incentive do I really have in helping you keep your own house in order?"

"The incentive, madam, is that your house is next to mine." He grit his teeth in frustration, but managed to keep hold of his demeanor. "With all due respect, I don't think you understand Ren the same way I do."

"Explain." The clipped word was loud enough Hux spared a glance over his shoulder to be certain he was still alone.

"These aren't like the days of Palpatine," Hux began, "he understood the economics of war, which is why he placed himself in a position with no way of losing. These aren't like the days of Snoke either, who was saavy enough to recognize the mutual exchange of ambitions between the will of the Force and the military industrial market. Kylo Ren doesn't know anything about that - he was sheltered from all of that. He only knows the Force. His only goal is to use the Order to wipe out the galaxy's last remaining Jedi, then sweep up the crumbs that are left of the Resistance. From there, toppling the Republic is easy, the work was done for him - they're scattered and cut off from each other, what military force they once had that wasn't decimated with the rest of the Resistance is disenfranchised and disorganized. With any luck, he could easily bring them into the fold with logic, mercy, and diplomacy - no ships, no guns, no ground assault. But the reality is that he couldn't care less about conquest - his only goal is to bring balance to the Force. He is no military commander, he is a Knight, a fallen Jedi - a religious fanatic. He is driven by a set of ideals and honor. He has more compassion in him than he wants to admit, and certainly more than any Emperor you've worked with before. He'd rather build schools and hospitals and temples and social infrastructure than continue purchasing your war machine. You'd be back where you started."

"You mean, back when my father was funding your father's shipyards and laboratories and store houses in the Unknown Regions? Helping your Order put a stop to those thirty years of peace? Our start was strong, Hux. Advantageous even. Perhaps the mistake we made was backing the wrong fathier." Hux sucked in a quick breath. This wasn't going the way he'd hoped. "Perhaps we should have done a better job equipping the Resistance."

"Perhaps you should," he blurted, a bit reckless in his own self-righteousness. "Maybe I can better rely on them to do what needs to be done." His stomach reeled and he willed his knees to quit trembling.

"Hux, I don't think you understand what part the Sith play to begin with," Xindi scolded, and Hux felt ice creep down his spine, awash with freezing despair. His plan was failing before it even began. "The Sith annihilated the Jedi with their own clone army, and they kept their own numbers limited to two. Just two, only ever two.

"Force users are difficult to kill, Hux, but I should think, examining history, that it would be obvious that they are hardly impervious. All of those Jedi were slaughtered, General Hux by... men. Just... ordinary men. And yet, there are only two Sith.

"And while we can both agree that Snoke's apprentice is not exactly like the Sith of the past, I think we can both recognize the point I'm trying to make. What was the crew compliment of the Supremacy before it was terminated, General Hux? How many ordinary men did Snoke surround himself and his apprentice with?"

"I don't understand," Hux mumbled. "You... you don't need the Sith... they're vulnerable, why won't you..."

"We do need them. They are the opiate of the masses, General Hux. Simply put, they are scary. Take a look at the other side of the equation - the side you can't seem to fully grasp. The larger picture.

"In the days of Palpatine, those two little Sith were capable of triggering an event that left the entire Jedi order a relic of the past. People like you and me, Hux - dogmatic critical thinkers that see the galaxy for what it really is - understand that all of those Jedi were murdered by nothing more than ordinary men. The removal of the Jedi paved the way for Imperial conquest, and went a long way toward helping to circumvent Republic sanctions on trade. People got very rich when the Jedi died. But all the rest of those poor souls out there - all of those ordinary people with their ordinary families in their ordinary homes - they look at your Kylo Ren and see a horrifying monstrosity of limitless power, and it's through that lens that they view the power of the First Order. He is the creature in your closet or under your bed that makes people either want to join you, or fight you.

"Nobody cares about your father's legacy, General Hux, and nobody knows anything about my profit margins. These alone are not enough to perpetuate war, and I certainly don't need my account information plopped into the hands of the general populace. Like marketing any product, branding is the key - we need this war to wear a terrifying mask. We need a puppet. A puppet that can be that kind of terrifying. And General Hux, if you can't keep a tighter leash on that puppet, then I must confess, we find ourselves in a position where we no longer have any need of you."

Hux's smile was taciturn as he looked to his feet, shook his head, and swallowed his capitulation with his stomach acid. He was surrounded by enemies. He was sandwiched between the Syndicate and the Hutts and a hundred other loan sharks that were out for his blood, and the interests of the officers within his Order that he was trying to protect. Officers like Commander Belloth. And then there was the matter of Ren himself. The First Order was meant to conquer the galaxy, not chase scavenger girls and Jedi ghosts. Thousands of people lost loved ones on the Fulminatrix when it was bombed over D'Qar. Even more were lost on the Supremacy. He'd made a promise that their lives would not have been spent in vain - the Resistance was over, it was time to move on.

"That will not be necessary," he simpered with only marginally more conviction than he actually felt. "He will be kept in line."

"Very good. I knew you'd see reason. And you can start by making sure nothing else explodes."

Xindi severed the connection before Hux could form a sufficient response. It was no matter, he already knew what he needed to know. He was completely alone in his task, but he wasn't beaten yet. First he would do his duty and placate Calrissian to the best of his ability. And then it was time for an update on Belloth's scans of Korriban.

* * *

Taking a pragmatic approach to the search, Kylo Ren chose to divide and conquer. Keeping a quad of Troopers with him for personal protection, he sent the rest in pairs to investigate the quays where they were to gather intel on departure schedules, cargo manifests, crew and passenger compliments, and a list of final destinations. They were then instructed to start a wide sweep of the area. The men who remained with him, however, fell in line with their training and performed their duties to the best of their ability, much to his chagrin. They kept clear the clustering masses of people, allowing him to advance forward unhindered... yet in complete view. It was clear to anyone with functioning eyeballs that the flagship of the First Order was hanging huge and heavy in the sky overhead, obviously in town for a visit. But any question whether the Supreme Leader, himself, was wandering about in the open was now quite sufficiently quashed. All eyes were on him, and by now busy mouths had already spread the rumor of his movements clear to the far quadrants of the city. If Rey was at this port, she already knew he was too.

An unskilled hunter would prematurely consider this challenge to be a failure. He would abort the mission to regroup and consider a different tactic. But Ren was adept at turning an obstacle into an advantage. By now she was being bumped along, shoulder to shoulder, elbow to elbow, mouth to ear as she was herded slowly toward the entry hatch of a waiting ship. She had to be - there's no way Lando could maintain his neutral position and allow her to stay on Bespin. With her own ship a sad, smoking pile of refuse, she had no other option available but to try to discreetly purchase transport off world. And by now, the people pressed around her were starting to whisper... and starting to stare. All he had to do was get closer - when they turned to look, she would too, and he'd have her.

By now she was bolstering her defenses. She was either placing all of her effort into the very focused act of ignoring him, or she was taking the less passive route by mentally barricading the barrier she'd placed between them, the one that severed their bond through the Force. In either case, he could feel it - could place his hand on the door and _feel_ it - and when he finally popped into her view and she could see him, she'd flinch. She'd flinch, and he'd feel it... and he'd know she was right there - right there in the line of sight. All he had to do was reach out... and keep walking.

His concentration was broken momentarily when the radio belonging to the Trooper next to him crackled to life. The man listened intently to the staticky message through the din of the mob around them then delivered a short response.

"My Lord, the dock master in quay number nine appears to be acting strangely."

"Define strangely."

"Can't say for sure, m'lord, just that it's causing a scene."

It was probably nothing. The man was probably drunk, or even more likely he was involved in a smuggling outfit, paid off but probably not the right man for the job. It could have been a number of different nothings. But it could also have been something.

"Take me there."

As they approached he thought he felt something - small and feeble, like the tiny thrumming heartbeat of a rodent trapped in the brush by a predator. He couldn't decide if the source was the girl, or the man on the dock whose dull, blank eyes stared ahead in dead emptiness as he marched, step by step, muttering something about, "it's time to go home now - she said it's time to go home now." A small, green Rodian, who had the misfortune of being the man's superior, was making a valiant effort to keep his errant employee at his post by grappling at his shirt, ineffectually pulling with all of his body weight. The scene would probably seem quite perplexing to one who didn't know better.

One who'd never seen a Jedi trick a mind.

But before Kylo Ren could order his men to search the ship at the dock, the giant craft spun up its impulse boosters and coasted away, floating into the taxi lane that would eventually allow them to escape gravitational pull and ascend into the trade hyperlane in orbit. Ren quickly stepped to the edge of the quay and threw back his hood. He squeezed his eyes shut and composed his mind, growing very still as he searched every mind and every thought he could touch, sifting through them like he would with a fine mesh sieve. But the ship was pulling away...

"Come on, let's go," loud voices crashed through his trance as dock security came to the rescue of the Rodian shift supervisor and carted his dock master away. Interrogating the man would do no good in his befuddled state - it would be hours before his mind returned to normal lucidity.

Ren clenched his jaw in frustration, but found he couldn't quite manage to summon his typical level of wrath. Perhaps it was too many sleepless nights. Perhaps it was the heavy toll of leadership. Perhaps it was because his mind was being pulled in at least five different directions at any given time. Or perhaps it was something he didn't wish to name. Perhaps it was the smell of the wind and the sea in her hair as she stood too close to him in an elevator...

The dewy soft touch of warm, damp fingertips by a fire...

But then there was the pang of rage - the void of sorrow from a begging man as she denied him a last glimpse of his dying mother.

 _What do you want?_

Ahh, yes, there was the wrath.

"I can tell you what you want," a thin voice called from down near his ankles. There sat a toothless, threadbare hobo who stank a bit of booze and bodily fluids, likely waiting for an opportunity to sneak unseen onto a passing freighter to leave this world for anywhere, a stowaway.

"What?"

"What you want to know. Where that ship is going. I can tell you. For a price."

A price. Of course. Ren nearly laughed out loud. The very gall of it. His Supreme Leader, the last living Skywalker, the last Lord of the Dark Side... would pay a price for information. Oh yes, there would be a price alright. Kylo Ren lifted his arm.

The man dropped a bottle and left a puddle behind as an invisible noose yanked him by his throat to dangle precariously over the edge of the platform, feet kicking and dangling in the empty air over the rolling, swirling clouds of Bespin. He struggled, his hands clawing at his neck, but he was completely helpless. Ren's eyes never left the man, although he was acutely aware of the commotion behind him. Men were shouting in fear and women were shrieking, and the Troopers were barking orders to keep everyone back and the situation contained. Ren knew he had to keep this quick - the ship was pulling further still away from the quay.

"Where is it going?" he asked softly with the kind of calm that unquestionably asserted his dominance over his victim. The man sputtered and gargled, but couldn't form comprehensible speech in his state of panic. Ren resorted to the next best option then. The man's wild croaking reached a high-pitched wheeze when his mind was forcibly entered, and his eyes rolled back in his head, straining their bloodshot whites. His body went rigid and his legs twitched violently. Ren gestured to the Trooper next to him to take notation.

"The ship's first stop is Ord Mantell. After that it makes a quick loop to a mining colony in the Velcar sector of the Outer Rim before stopping at Kuat and then Corellia on its way back."

Ren pulled the man back to the platform and allowed him to collapse there in a heaving, gasping heap. He lifted his reddened, sullen eyes to him toward which Ren replied with dismissive apathy, "The price was your life. The debt has been paid." The man then lifted a hand to shield his face from the heavy black cloak that sailed out at him when Ren turned to go.

"Relay a message to General Hux," he reported to his men as they reached the shuttle. "The Vindicator jumps to hyperspace in no more than an hour."

He paused at the hatch of the shuttle, however. He gazed after the ship - _her_ ship - as it took its place in line, and the passenger cruiser ahead of it kicked out its thrusters and cleared the upper atmosphere to plunge into the cold of outer space. He tried to put himself in her shoes - where would he go? Ord Mantell, Kuat, and Corellia were each hubs of politics, commerce, and trade. It was easy to get ships in and out of each of them, and they each boasted a population density that certainly could facilitate a quick disappearing act. They were all good places for making connections, securing supplies, making friends or enemies.

But any number of other ships on the port made shorter, and likely cheaper, trips to these destinations as well, and quite regularly. So... why choose the ship she did? Was it simply because it was the first one to go? Or was it because the extra stop on some backwater no-name mining colony in the Outer Rim was a more attractive option to stop, catch her breath, and lick her wounds? Someplace where no one would be looking for a Wookie, a droid, a man with dark skin and a stitched up leather jacket... and a girl with strange powers?

Ren wasn't a gambling man, but he would have bet on the answer. He would still order patrols on the other planets to be thorough, but he knew where he was going next. He stomped aboard the shuttle and let the hiss of the hydraulic lifts chase the thoughts from his head... his conundrum over why he was less worried about what he'd do to her when he found her, than he was over what he'd end up saying to her.


	7. Ch 7: The Children (Part One)

**Ch 7: The Children (Part One)**

"What if Chewie can't get enough money from the Zephyr to get off world..." Rey mused as she shuffled through the crush of people at Cloud City's main departure port like a nerf headed out to pasture.

"Then he'll talk to his good buddy Lando," Finn did his best to reassure her. "It pays having powerful friends - ask me how I know."

"He can't go to Lando, Finn - that place is crawling with the Order, you saw it..."

"Then he'll contact Poe. Or any number of other contacts we don't know about. He and Han used to run a pretty successful, uhh-operation. Thing. Right? He's got ways, Rey."

 _Ways_. Oh, sure. _Ways_ their enemy knew all about. Because it wasn't like Chewie didn't establish those _ways_ with their enemy's father or anything.

"It's so risky... I just can't help feeling like we've abandoned him..."

"Rey, Chewie's been escaping goons like these longer than we've been alive, relax. Plus, he's huge and hairy and sticks out like a sore thumb, and he knows it. He knows it's the right call."

Rey chewed on her own thumbnail as she stopped and allowed people to bump and scuffle all around her. She stood on her tiptoes and did her best to scan over the small sea of heads, trying to get her bearings. She hadn't forgotten the satchel on her back - she hadn't forgotten their priorities - but only because she kept yanking down on her damned infernal naive compassion like she was trying to keep hold of a runaway balloon on a windy day. Logically, she knew it was the best decision to split up - it had even been the Wookiee's idea. Ky... _he_ knew Chewie, it might have been enough to draw him off course. They had to try.

"Any of these ships will do, Rey," Finn prompted, "we just have to pick one. Just pick one." He was growing edgy and impatient. She didn't blame him. The longer their feet were planted in Cloud City, the less likely they were to ever leave Cloud City. And he was right - as long as Rey still wore her bracelet with the beacon, she rationally knew that their separation was really only temporary. As long as they could all successfully depart from Bespin.

"Which one leaves the soonest?" It was then, from up ahead and to her right, Rey heard a dock master shouting, announcing a final boarding call for Ord Mantell - yet another place she'd only tangentially ever heard of in her plebeian existence growing up on a remote desert world... alone.

"That one!" she declared. They bobbed and weaved through the thick mass of people, barely managing to keep hold of each other as they approached quay number nine.

"Okay, not to be picky at a time like this," Finn mused quietly beside her, "but do we really want to go to Ord Mantell?"

"Finn, the ship is leaving now. What's wrong with Ord Mantell?"

"It's, uh..." Finn yanked on his jacket and glanced nervously around as they stepped up to the departure display panel, "It's just that it's a pretty major core world."

"Exactly!" she hissed out of the corner of her mouth, having made eye contact with the dock master. She beamed a disarming smile at the man. He only managed to look tired. "It makes it easier to disappear, doesn't it?"

"Yeah... but probably not in a good w-"

"Travel docs," the dock master interrupted, lazily monotone. He held out his hand as his eyes shifted to his timepiece. "Clearance then cargo manifest in that order, please."

"Oh, we uhh... we don't have cargo," Rey replied. At this, the man scrunched up his eyebrows and looked her up and down. Briefly she wondered if she still looked or carried herself like a scavenger, hence the confusion. Perhaps this was something she should have used to her advantage. Hadn't that been her original intention? She stuck out a thumb and waved it between herself and Finn. "We're just passengers."

"Passenger deck filled up half an hour ago," the man said, the hint of a sneer bunching the bridge of his nose. "You'll have to ride in cargo. It'll be five hundred credits each."

"Don't you mean, total?" Rey asked innocently while Finn could only cough. "The sign says it's only two hundred and fifty credits each."

"That's when there was still seats. You should've gotten here then." Yep, definitely should have played the scavenger card.

"That's... that's crazy," Rey replied, indignant. Finn took hold of her elbow and craned his neck around, silently begging her to keep her voice down.

"It's fine, Rey, just pay the nice man."

"No, it's not fine," she rounded on him. "He's charging us double for no seat - that's, that's..." Every credit spent on these tickets - tickets they hadn't anticipated, having left Arturo 24 in their own damned ship - was a credit not spent on food, medicine, repairs, fuel, ammo... Every credit spent leaving Bespin was a failure. She whipped back around to face the dock master. "That's extortion!"

The man sighed, bored and clearly having dealt with this reaction far too many times.

"It's not extortion, ma'am, it's life. Are you going to Ord Mantell or not?"

"We are," Finn said as he smiled, hand diving hastily into the satchel on Rey's back. He retrieved a pad that he immediately waved under a scanner before stuffing it back where it belonged. "Thanks so much, have a great day." Rey didn't budge when Finn tugged at her, though. At least not at first. Before she turned to follow her friend onto the gangway that boarded the ship, she passed her hand in front of the dock master's face and leaned in close enough to whisper in his ear. Then, satisfied, she grinned, hoisted the strap on the satchel once more, and expeditiously walked away.

"What was that about?" Finn whispered to her.

"Nothing, just keep going."

"Tell me you didn't just do what I think you did."

"It'll buy us time, in case he doesn't take the bait."

Temporarily blinded after stepping out of the warm, pleasant Bespin sunshine into the dim and musty cargo hold of the transport ship, Rey refused herself time to let her eyes adjust. She kept marching forward, ignoring the dangers of stubbed toes and skinned shins. While they'd still been out in public view, she'd started to feel a familiar tingle where her neck met her shoulders - the same one she'd felt the night they'd lost Leia. It was a lot like a peal of lightning before a storm. She'd come to learn it was an omen, and with the enormous black shadow of the Supremacy leering above them in the sky like a hungry monster, she didn't have to guess it probably wasn't good. And she'd also felt certain she'd heard someone behind them gasp in surprise and say they'd seen the Supreme Leader of the First Order himself stalking down the causeway with a small army of men. Finn easily kept pace with her as they plunged deep into the belly of the ship, trying to find a comfortable hiding space far in the back where they could hopefully remain unbothered and unnoticed for the duration of their trip. Someplace where Rey could sit, free from distraction, and focus on filling her mind with useless static, masking their movements and making it harder for him to detect them through his use of the Force.

At a point deep enough in the hold that they could feel the hum of the starship's impulse engines vibrate the deck beneath their feet, they nestled themselves down amongst a pile of sturdily stacked crates that smelled a little of unwashed socks and moldy straw. Rey climbed on top of one of them and leaned her back against another, drawing her legs beneath her while trying to get comfortable on top of the scratchy tarp of burlap that covered her tier of the pile.

"Oh stars, Rey, I think someone said he's out th-"

"Shh," she shushed him so she could concentrate. Finn crouched beside her crate near the floor, and she pretended she didn't see him draw his blaster. She simply let her eyes fall shut, let her breath settle into a calm, natural rhythm, and she filled her mind with the endless rolling hills and valleys that made up Jakku's famous sand dunes. She smiled with nostalgia as she pictured every grain of silica, every mineral deposit, glitter in the harsh, barren radiation of Jakku's punishing sun. The weird pang of homesickness that shot through her was strange, considering how badly she'd yearned for the rain and the sea of Ahch-To. It seemed she'd been running for her life ever since she'd left Jakku... perhaps she merely longed for the peaceful rest of a lonelier time.

All focus was lost, however, when the ship lurched away from the quay and slowly began to coast into the taxi lane, merging with the traffic that already patiently waited there. The more experienced travelers who'd opted to ride in the hold with their cargo had anticipated the jolt, allowing their bent knees to absorb the shock. They carried on with their conversations without missing a beat. One man was already down for a nap. Rey, on the other hand, was tipped like a squealing sack of potatoes sideways onto the crate next to her, but instead of landing on what should have been a firm wooden top, she was met with bony lumps that felt like elbows or knees. And one of those bony lumps cried out with a sudden, "Oof! OUCH!" Another immediately shushed the first.

"Wha...?" Rey breathed as she tried in vain to right herself over the pile of moving limbs concealed beneath the thin burlap tarp. Unbalanced by the surprise, she rolled off of the crate entirely to land in a sprawling, uncoordinated mass on the deck below.

"What in the world was that?" she gasped as she rose to her feet, pushing her hair out of her face. Finn lifted his blaster with one hand and reached to peel back a corner of the tarp with the other, his arm stiff as a board as if he expected a snake to jump out and strike him. Before he could make any startling revelations, another arm peeked out of the darkness behind the stack of crates - one they hadn't seen before. It was a heavy, strong arm, freckled and fuzzy with golden hair, attached to the body of a still-hidden man. It had leveled its own blaster sights straight as an arrow to Finn's right temple.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," the man's disembodied voice warned. "Just plain rude."

"Great," Finn sighed in exasperation. "Slave traders. Just when this galaxy couldn't get more depraved."

"What?" a pair of blue eyes peeked out from beneath the burlap. "No! That's not- "

"Be quiet, Lena!" the man snarled.

"But daddy, what if you get arrest- "

"I said be quiet!"

"What's going on here?" Rey asked as the man stepped into full view and swung his blaster into her face.

"I could ask the same of you." He was a handsome, bearded, middle-aged man with a ruddy, tan complexion and the creased eyes of a soldier who'd earned his wisdom the hard way. Rey was willing to bet he didn't need to stand this close to nail his mark between her eyes. But she sensed no animosity in him - only determination and fear. He was no captor. He was a protector. "What are you doing here?" he asked. "Where's your cargo? Why are you snooping around my crates?"

"I... I," Rey stammered as she raised her hands and stumbled a step backwards.

"What do you want with us? Who are you - thieves?"

"Daddy," the voice with the blue eyes called again, "be quiet, he'll hear you!"

"He's outside! Down there, staring at us!" trilled a different voice this time - the tiny quavering of a small, frightened child, still concealed within their hiding place. The child's speech was markedly accented, like that of the officers of the First Order.

"Lena, dammit, I told you to- "

"Who are you?" Finn asked as he cocked an eyebrow to Rey. "Who'll hear y- wait, are you talking about Kylo Ren?"

"What? Oh... no, no," Rey laughed timidly, her eyes crossed as she focused on the blaster barrel, close enough it could still wipe the sweat off her eyebrows, "no, you're safe, he's after us, not you - why would he be after you?"

"That's none of your damned business," the man answered, his hand the kind of steady that only comes with loads of practice, his eyes unblinking beneath his brow. They were piercing, and as blue as his daughter's. "I'm only going to ask you one more time - what do you want with my crates?" She opened her mouth to adamantly restate her case but then...

Wait. Wait a minute. There it was again, that tingle, that spark. The kind that raised the hair on her arms. The kind that happened every time _his_ voice would catch her off guard, pricking the skin on the back of her neck when he'd call to her on Ahch-To. She thought she'd felt it because he was standing outside and she'd been trying to ignore him but then... something wasn't right here, she was missing something obvious.

And how did that kid know he was down there from... inside that crate?

"I'm gonna count to three," the man continued, "and then you're either going to tell me the truth about who you're working for, or I'm gonna dump your body down where no one will ever- "

Rey took the chance, a risk she calculated carefully. With the flick of a finger, the blaster sailed out of the man's hand to land squarely into the palm of her own. It was only through the blessing of the man's skill and training that he didn't accidentally pull the trigger as it left him. This time, it was his turn to thrust his hands into the air.

"Look," he implored, "my daughter's only seventeen, the rest are just kids, okay? Little ones. They didn't ask for this, and I don't know what you're planning, but you have to know that- "

"He thinks we're First Order, Rey," Finn guessed.

"We're not First Order, I promise. Look, can we maybe put the blasters down?" she asked. "Keep calm and quiet? Maybe at least try to be inconspicuous? Finn, put that thing away."

"Are... are you sure- "

"Just do it."

Finn grumbled but reluctantly complied. He lifted his jacket to stuff his blaster back beneath his belt, but the big man only stared at them with his mouth slightly open, no doubt shocked by the small miracle he'd just witnessed. To break the tension, he cocked his jaw to the side and scrubbed at the patch of golden brown hair on his chin. His eyes darted between them and his body was drawn tight as a spring, ready to jump at the first sign of a fight. Rey still held his weapon... and the advantage.

"Daddy," the blue-eyed girl named Lena called after her father, "daddy, she's like- "

"Hush, Lena, I know."

"Look," Rey did her best to soothe with speech, "I'm putting the gun down, putting it down right here." She held his eyes, but bent her knees and placed the blaster on the deck between them. She tucked her elbows in tight and kept her hands visible as a show of peace, stepping further back from the offending item. "We didn't mean to snoop around your crates," she confessed as the man bent slowly and easily, making very deliberate movements as he retrieved his weapon and returned it to its rightful place, out of sight within the folds of the dusty leather overcoat he wore. "We were just trying to find a place out of sight until we could get off world."

"You said Ren was after you," Finn asked accusingly, eager to find out why he was held at gunpoint.

"Finn, can we not- "

" _You_ did, actually," the man replied with as much venom. "You first."

"Stop, just stop, everyone stop," Rey barked impatiently. "Honestly, why are men so angry? Can we not simply start with proper introductions? Wouldn't that be nice and civilized?"

"That sounds like a terrible idea," Finn growled, his overprotective nature as irritating as it was endearing.

"My name is Rey," she ignored him and smiled as she jabbed a hand in greeting out into the open space that still divided them, offered freely like a white flag. "And this is Finn. And as I said, we're definitely not First Order, we- "

"You sound like First Order," the man interrupted her, jutting out his chin defiantly. "Talk just like 'em."

This completely derailed her train of thought. If she had to be honest with herself, she knew she did - it was the first thing she'd noticed upon meeting people and forming relationships outside of her life on Jakku. Her speech, her mannerisms, the way she pronounced certain vowels... they were chillingly similar to those of their enemy. Which was also what made Ky... _him_ such an oddity - he was her mirror opposite in every way... including this one. Except, of course, he had the benefit of knowing he was not originally born a child to the Order. But she... she... It just made her wonder. It was a funny little mystery she'd mused over countless times while willing herself to sleep at night, one she carried in the back of her mind everywhere she went, and maybe one that bore more importance to her than she'd really ever assigned it. It was a thought she'd abandoned when she left the throne room on the Supremacy, stepping over _his_ unconscious form, his words still drifting through her head like they were carried on the wind.

 _You come from nothing, you're nothing._

Her eyes had been opened at that very moment, stunned by the realization that where she came from was completely irrelevant - what only mattered was who she would become. And while it didn't still her curiosity, she knew that if she were to devote any further examination to the question, the time certainly wasn't now.

"I... I know I do, I... I'm from Jakku. People just, uh... they talk funny on Jakku," she tried to deftly sidestep the issue. "But I promise, we're not with the Order. We're with the Resistance."

"Dammit, I knew it! Stars!" The man threw his arms in the air before knotting his hands in his hair, turning round and round in lost, frightened circles. She and Finn could only stare at each other in confusion. "Kriff!"

"That's... that's a _bad_ thing?"

"Of course it is! You said yourself, he's after _you_! What do you think the chances are he's actually going to let this ship leave orbit? Does he know you're on it?!"

"I... I don't think he actually- "

"There are _kids_ on this ship, dammit!" Rey and Finn could only blink stupidly at each other in their own ignorance. "Kriffing Resistance... stars! You think you're such big damned heroes because you went and got yourselves all blown up! Think you're saving the day out here, walking around a bunch of big targets painted on your backs? You're gonna get us all killed!"

"Sir, we still don't know what you're talking about - we don't even know who you are, let alone what you're doing with these kids..."

"My daughter and I..." the man sighed and kneaded the lines on his forehead. The pause felt like a vacuum of sound in which only the drone of the engines could be heard for just a moment. Rey felt her ears pop - they must have gained altitude. The man then shook his head and let his hand fall slack against his leg with a clap. "Look... alright? You can't know this, okay? Telling you this puts little children at risk. I need you to understand that, because now you know they're here, and no one can know. No one."

"I know it's difficult to trust people out here," Finn thankfully stepped in when Rey didn't quite know what to say. "I'm a turncoat Trooper - a traitor to the First Order. No one knows that better than me. But this girl here is a Jedi. That used to mean something to this galaxy, and I hope it still does."

Ordinarily Rey would have argued the point, but this time she spared herself the disservice. Attempting to walk away from the situation now - and taking with them knowledge this man clearly didn't want openly walking around out in the world - would only put the man's blaster at their backs. There was no other choice - they were stuck going the same direction together on a long trip, they had to gain each other's trust. And, perhaps, gain an ally. The man now faced her fully, open and bare. His eyes were weary, hunted, and haunted, but still searching for that spark of hope within her that even she herself struggled in the best of times to keep lit.

"A Jedi," he breathed with a tiny laugh of sorrow. "When I was a kid... heard a lot of stories about Jedi. One of my ancestors was a Jedi, long time ago. Long ago. There's good and bad in every bunch, but for the most part I thought they were alright. You know what happened to them, don't you?"

"Something horrible," Rey answered. She didn't know the specifics, but also didn't feel they were terribly pertinent. Which, naturally, was incorrect.

"Something horrible is right," he nodded gravely. "Some dark lord on a fancy throne got the bright idea that there shouldn't be any Jedi anymore, or even any Sith - except for two. Only two. Had the rest slaughtered, all of those Jedi. Anyone who survived went into hiding. Even your man Skywalker grew up an orphan - some farm kid on Tatooine. Hidden away where no one thought he'd ever be found. Thought he'd be safe. Turns out, his real mother was some sort of queen, did you know that?"

Rey did her best not to think about what that made Ky... _him_. She also didn't bring up who Luke's father was.

"You think force users just stopped getting born?" he continued. "How much do you think has changed since then? What about you Miss Jedi? Who are your parents?"

"You don't have to answer that, Rey," Finn reassured her as he laid a hand on her shoulder. She opened her mouth to show her appreciation, but didn't get the chance.

"You don't know, do you?" the man asked. "Yeah, well..." he stared at his feet for a while, scrubbing at his hair and neck, still reticent to go on but too far down the hole to turn back. "There's a lot of kids out there like you. Like these ones here."

"Wait..." Finn began as he lifted a finger and waved it about in a small circle. "Wait a minute, I think I know what's going on here... you, you're a..."

"An underground railroad?" the man supplied. "You'd be right. That's exactly what we are."

"Why didn't you just say so in the first place!" Finn told the man, animatedly engaging him further, but the conversation about risk versus trust quickly faded into numb, ringing background noise. Rey's eyes fell unfocused to the deck beneath her feet. The argument mixed with the gentle tone of the engines became howling dry winds and the metallic creaks of the wrecks on Jakku. She could still feel the grit in her eyes and teeth as she looked up and watched that ship disappear - her eyes followed it until the blue swallowed it whole and the tiny receding, glistening pinpoint disappeared forever.

 _I'll come back for you sweetheart, I promise._

"If you received our hails, you should have answered!" Finn told the man, excitedly waving his hands in front of him. "We could have helped you!"

"Helped us?" the man answered. "You can barely help yourselves, look at you!"

"My parents are dead," Rey mumbled absentmindedly. "They're buried in a pauper's grave. Somewhere. I don't know where." All she could do was stare at her hands.

"I know, girl. So is my wife." Silence blanketed them all at the admission, and Rey met his eyes. Now, looking at him, she understood his troubles, she understood what these children meant, what they were. She understood who he was. Like her, they were Force sensitive and they were refugees, and he would die for them.

"My name," the man continued, "it, uh... it isn't important, I'm nobody. But it's Omar. Omar Entero, and this is my daughter, Lena." Two pairs of small, pale hands surfaced from the crate next to them to push back the burlap tarp and reveal the blue-eyed, strawberry blonde adolescent form of Lena, and three children crammed in next to her. Two were clearly siblings - a girl with brown hair and hazel eyes who looked to be about eight years old, and her brother who was little, perhaps only five or six. All of them stared at her, wide-eyed in fascination... except for the third child - a pale boy with dark hair, roughly ten years of age. He was clearly uncomfortable with the situation. His shoulders were tight and he sat with his knees drawn up to his chest, his shy face turned away with his left cheek gingerly resting atop them. Rey immediately recognized the look of fear and the ache of longing when she saw him. They were the same as her own.

"I'm a surgeon by trade," Omar went on, "a neural surgeon to be exact." That explained his steady hands. "My wife was a kolto tank technician. It's, uh... it's how we met. But when the war started, we ended up spending a lot of time as field medics with New Republic Forces on Tython, Corellia, Ord Mantell... enough to see some things where the fighting was thickest, and hear a few stories. Get involved in... y'know, stuff. I don't know if you know what the First Order does with their children..."

The thought had never really occurred to Rey, although she could hazard a likely guess their upbringing wasn't exactly like what other children in the galaxy experienced. She shrugged and turned to Finn who was making a face she'd never seen him make before. The sudden shadows under his eyes frightened her.

"There's no such thing as a childhood in the First Order," was all he said in a strained, hollow voice. And then Rey remembered that Finn had a whole life story that he hadn't really ever made much mention of, at least not outside of his martial training and the duties he performed.

"It's true, they indoctrinate them, straight away," Omar agreed, "or, at least... that's the nice way of putting it. And if they're discovered as they get older to be Force sensitive, well... then they go down in history as someone who quietly and mysteriously disappeared."

"They're...?"

"They're exterminated," Finn answered bluntly.

"That's... that's barbaric! Finn, you knew this?"

He ignored the question entirely.

"Why...? Why would they ever..."

"Because Snoke didn't want more than two," Omar said. "It's just... sort of the word of law on the dark side of the Force."

"Well, that makes no sense, but it only makes me happier than ever that Snoke is dead," she spat. "Maybe Ben will- "

"Don't count on it Rey," Finn told her flatly, finding his voice. "I know you think you know him, but I was there with him when he wiped out a whole village full of people. I... I'm just as guilty of following orders as he is, but..." he swallowed thickly and twisted his fingers together as he spoke of his own shame, "But I left and he didn't. He killed his own dad, Rey, he's got no problem killing kids."

But... this was the same man Finn said was in love with her. This was the same man who'd shared her bubble of personal space, who'd shared his memories and sorrows and fears with her... who'd assured her she wasn't alone... The only person who was willing to tell her the truth about her family. This was a man who spared the life of his mother... And damn, there it was again - that absolutely asinine compassion that hung above her like a light switch she couldn't reach. Maybe Mr. Kill It If You Have To was right. After all, he was the same guy who burned down a Jedi temple, which also, incidentally, ended the lives of a number of Force sensitive kids.

"Listen to your friend," Omar told her. "If you ever have the misfortune of coming face to face with Kylo Ren again, ask him what happened to the Knights of Ren, if you don't believe him."

Rey had heard of them, had even seen them in a vision once. The vision she'd had on Takodana when Maz Kanata had showed her the lightsaber - the one that was now only pieces at the bottom of her satchel. But she'd forgotten they'd even existed because... well, because she'd never seen them. Not even a hint of them, not once. They were just... gone. At that moment her ears popped again and her belly did a familiar flip - the kind she'd felt several times during the changeover to artificial gravity. They'd left orbit. So far, so good. Omar, visibly seeming to relax now that Bespin was officially behind them, backed himself up to the bulkhead and slid his way down to sit on the deck. Rey and Finn both joined him, taking a seat to settle in for the ride.

"When Lena was younger, I don't remember - maybe eleven or twelve," Omar said, not necessarily changing the subject so much as beginning a fresh anecdote, "her mother and I were stationed on some moon - it was livable and pastoral; a big grain factory. It was an important bread basket, and it saw more than a few skirmishes with the Order. I remember one night... it was a quiet night. Nice night, balmy. We were sitting up late playing sabacc with one of the attendants and the guard on duty when there was a noise outside.

"Soldiers rushed to the ready but it was just a woman... a woman that had snuck into the camp. No one saw her. They didn't see her because she was a trained First Order officer - she was good at her job. But it was plain to see from the get go that this wasn't an ordinary infiltration. She was alone, she was heavily pregnant, and she was in labor. She was begging us to take her prisoner. She was flat out begging us to..." he turned a hand over in front of him, "to take her baby.

"I don't know how she knew, but she was absolutely completely convinced that her baby was Force sensitive. I don't know if the Force told her, I don't know if she had some sort of vision or connection to the kid or what - I don't even know if maybe she could just feel it. Stars, I don't know if she was Force sensitive herself and had just managed to hide it her whole life, which any Force sensitive kid knows is next to impossible to do. The fact was, she just knew. To be honest, I don't even know if the kid was actually force sensitive at all. Anyway. She had the baby that night, and we did what she asked - we took her prisoner, and we ended up sending the kid back to the Republic to live in a home with other kids that were orphaned by the war. The day after she gave birth, though, an officer found her dead in her cell - hung herself with her own bedsheets.

"That's the first time we saw it happen, but not the last. It was enough to get us curious about why someone would do something like that. My wife... she was heartbroken. We knew we had to do something, so we started doing... this. But that's how I know your parents are dead, girl. I've seen it happen over and over. They smuggle their kids out and either leave them on a doorstep, or sell them off to anyone who'll give 'em a better life than what they'd have in the Order. Sometimes they get away with it... but most times they get caught... and punished. No one ever sees 'em again. And sometimes they take matters into their own hands. They don't want their kids looking for them and they'd rather die than ever have that kid end up anywhere near the Order. Not when the Order is a death sentence for people like... well, people like you.

"But now it's not just people in the First Order, not anymore. I've seen kids in towns and cities and farms - just ordinary people, but on worlds that are under threat from the Order. Seen all kinds - rich, poor, dead or alive, all different races, it doesn't matter. Even regular kids - not Force sensitive, just trying to get 'em out and safe. Never seen a mother that didn't want her baby safe."

"Where do you take them?" Rey asked.

"Nope, I'm not telling you that." He kicked his legs out and folded his hands behind his head. "My first priority is their safety, and the less you know, the better I feel about it."

"But we can help you, I still don't understand," Finn started in again. "The Resistance was formed to help people like you."

"Keep telling yourself that, kid - the Resistance was formed to fight a war, nothing more. You just think you're the good guys because someone told you you are."

"But we have a list of safe houses, a network of- "

"Seriously, that's all you've got? How many ships do you have? How much protection are you realistically able to give? How many ships can I expect to break atmo on Ord Mantell to provide us cover from getting shot down? What's gonna happen to my kids when the soldiers hunting you start breaking down doors on your," his fingers made quotes in the air, "'safe houses?'"

"I... I," Finn couldn't find an answer. And Rey couldn't either, Omar was right. They'd lost everything on Bespin... all they'd left with was a tiny satchel of information, but no concrete way to use it. They had no assets and only a handful of people... and a bunch of hope that didn't do much good to anyone but them.

"Look, you guys really want to help out? The best thing you could do is just disappear for a while, and let the rest of us do our jobs in peace. In fact, if anyone here needs help, I'd say you need mine more."

That was probably true, but neither Rey nor Finn chose to make any sort of acknowledgement. Instead, they both sat, arms crossed in sullen yet enlightened silence, processing their new view of the the galaxy and their place in it. Omar at one point produced a pack that was hidden deep behind one of the crates, and dug out a handful of military style ration bars that he then doled out to the children.

"Hungry?" he offered her and Finn, but the kindness was really only another stinging reminder of their failure and helplessness. Opting instead to stretch her legs, Rey stood and wandered to a nearby viewport. They were already nearing their destination - she could see the planet looming ahead of them, a shining marble in a pit of black. The darkness that surrounded it was punctuated by lines and streams of lights - lights that weren't just stars. They were ships, more ships than Rey had ever see in one place. Well, in one place and also still operational. But she saw another object - a strange ball of metal, solar paneling, transmitter arrays, receiver dishes, and wiring. It also was very obviously still under construction.

"What's that?" she pointed, tapping her finger against the plexiglass.

"That would be the First Order's newest round of tricks," Omar answered. "No one knows what they really are yet, but the official edict is that they're a communications array, and first line of planetary defense. They're supposed to be weaponized, although I'm not sure that one looks like it is yet. But they're also supposed to shoot down exctinction-level asteroids or some other bantha crap. Make no mistake about it, though - those things are there to spy, and they're already doing a good job, I promise. You're not getting off here, are you?"

She glanced at Finn but he could only raise an eyebrow at her in question. She remembered the anxiety he'd had about finding safe harbor on Ord Mantell when they'd been scanning the destinations back on Bespin.

"That... had been the plan, but- "

"Do yourselves a favor," Omar told her, "don't get off on Ord Mantell. That... thing out there is just the tip of the iceburg - that planet is full of spies. And double agents, and triple agents and, and... quadruple agents for stars' sake, no one knows what's real there anymore. It's a nest of vipers - don't get mixed up with a place like that. It's a terrible place for an extraction. Corellia's not much better. It's easier to steal a ship on Kuat than wait for one, but only if you've got a death wish. In spite of my better judgment," he rubbed at his eyes, frustrated by his own empathy, "you should just get off with us on Churruma. It's just a pit stop for a lot of these guys to load and unload. It's a mining colony, hardly anyone ever goes there. We've got transponder equipment there - we can help you make a secure holonet call. But from there we go our separate ways - no trailing, no tracking devices, no contact - got it?"

"Alright," Rey acquiesced. She didn't have any better ideas. She didn't have anything at all. And maybe he was right, maybe they should just... stop. Face the music and just accept their defeat. Maybe concentrate on the simple act of surviving and existing, and stop putting innocent lives at risk to fight an enemy that outgunned them in every possible way. Maybe that's what Poe was trying to tell her from the beginning. She was probably considerably lucky that all her gamble had cost them was a starship. Perhaps it was time to quit while they were still... yeah, they were anything but ahead.

She stared miserably out the viewport at all of the life in the galaxy going on around her, flying in formations like busy flocks of birds. All of those lives - people coming and going, conducting business, forming relationships, chasing dreams, nursing wounds - all of that going on around her in all of those far away streaks of light, blissfully unaware of the fight she'd struggled so hard to maintain. For them. She wondered if General Leia Organa had ever been to Ord Mantell. She wondered if this is why Leia fought so long using legislation before she finally resorted to using ships and guns.

The galaxy was such an immense, unimaginable thing to try to save.

Small wonder she had no time left to save her son.


	8. Ch 8: The Children (Part Two)

**Ch 8: The Children (Part Two)**

After flushing and sanitizing her hands, Rey stepped out of the head on the cargo deck just in time to hear the crack and hiss of the hermetic seals on the loading dock doors. The stop they'd made in Ord Mantell City had been a flurry of frenzied activity - she'd flattened herself against the bulkhead to be out of the way while everything from hovercarts to livestock swarmed in and out of the hold. A wave of sound had split the relative silence to crash inside like the sea against the rocky shores of Ahch-To - a cyclonic symphony of honks and shouts and laughter and music and the scrape of metal on metal. And the rush of smells! Foreign foods and smog and the earthy, sweaty pallor of people living on top of each other. She had never experienced anything like it - the towering, multi-storied crush of life. In spite of her current state of utter destitution, it had taken every fiber of her being to refrain from flinging herself out the door to immerse herself in all of the new experiences that awaited her... out there in that crusty, dirty metropolis.

But so far she hadn't lost her life to her own naivety. On Ord Mantell, she certainly would have. So, she'd settled on watching and listening, and promising herself that if she ever saw an end to this war in her lifetime, she'd go back there. She'd do what she wished she could've done on Bespin and book herself a room in one of those high rises, then she'd try a food she'd never had before - something new and weird.

The stop on Churruma, however, was entirely different. The precise opposite, even. As she made her way back across the deck to the spot she shared with Finn, Omar, and the children, she threw her hand up to shield her eyes as a blast of fresh air and blazing sunshine chased the dust out of the stale, stuffy hold. The stop was relatively quiet - Rey found she could even hear the buzzing of insects outside on the quay. The transport ship pulled up to dock at a platform that was built out of a steep cliff face, plunging fathoms deep into a quarry that had obviously been mined for a considerable amount of time. She waited as the ship's other denizens pushed their empty hover carriers out onto the quay, ready to begin the menial task of refilling them for transport off-world somewhere else, doing their part to keep the galactic economy churning onward. Lena took her father's hand and swung one gawky, teenage leg over the wall of the crate, grunting as she was pulled to her feet. She immediately turned and lifted the youngest boy out by his armpits, cradling his underweight body next to hers while his sister was the next to receive assistance from Omar. Near the top of the pile of crates another box popped open and an older, green-skinned Twi'lek girl emerged to clamber her way down. She yawned and stretched when her feet touched the deck - she'd likely slept through the whole trip. Rey extended a hand to the last boy, the sullen dark-haired one, who merely shrugged her off, lithely swung himself out, then pulled his jacket collar up next to his ears as he quietly stalked toward the exit. The jacket looked several sizes too big. She wondered if it belonged to a father. She wondered briefly if the father was still... no. It did no good to wonder.

"Is he... alright?" Rey asked.

"Oh, that's Ali. He's just mad because he still has a mother," the younger girl answered, her toothless, eight year old face scrunching in a scowl of disdain.

Omar just sighed, staring at the boy's back as he said, "Not everyone's so grateful to get their life saved."

"Rey..." Finn whispered at her shoulder.

"I know..."

"That's how we get another Kylo Ren, Rey."

"I know."

Unsure of what to do next, Rey hung back and watched as Omar herded his charges out the door.

"Will... will people notice us here...?" she asked as she caught up with him. "Can't imagine they see kids here in the mines terribly often..."

"The more you keep thinking that, the more I like it," Omar replied.

"You're... not _working_ these kids in the mines, are you?!"

"He's not working us in the mines," Lena gave a droll answer, rolling her eyes, "and we're not slave traders," eyeballing Finn next.

"Okay, fine, I deserve that," he told her.

"But do... do people live here? Like, a mine town?" Rey asked.

"Something like that, sure," Omar replied. "The planet has a native population, but they're not real keen on outsiders. Can't say I blame 'em - they used to have to deal with the Empire," he told her, his pace never slowing. The planet was more temperate than Bespin, and more humid, but the warm sunshine was still pleasant on her shoulders. "The operators here have to follow strict regulations in order to be allowed to mine the quarry, and one of those regulations is that they must remain neutral. And they pay some pretty hefty taxes. Their goods are valuable to the war effort, though - all sides - so they can levy any kind of tariff they want to make up for it. They live a pretty good life, in spite of the, uh... more rural setting. And the hard work."

"Heh, war effort," Rey huffed apathetically. "What war effort is left with the Resistance in the state it's in..."

"Hey now," Omar responded, waving a hand around in front of him. "Take a look at us - what about us? You think you're the only ones in the fight because you got some princess to get you a bunch of ships? The New Republic may have turned tail and run, but there's still folks out there fighting, even in their own way."

"Why didn't any of them answer our hails?"

"I'm sure there's a million different reasons. Most probably didn't want to give up their position. There's probably a lot of farmers with pitchforks stuck in bunkers or tunnels or whatever on planets under First Order conquest. That machine has slowed, thankfully, since Ren took the helm, so some would say now is the time for guerilla warfare. Smaller insurgent groups are tougher to weed out."

Perhaps he had a point. Maybe there was still hope. It was easy to think she was the only hero of the story, but the truth was there were a lot of heroes of a lot of different stories all across the galaxy. That was the real philosophy of war.

Rey paused for a moment to turn a circle and survey her surroundings and the distant landscape. The ridge that lined the top of the quarry curved around to her right (which could have been north if she made any guesses based on the position of the sun in the sky), then opened up to her left in a stunningly beautiful, yet perilously gaping chasm. Down the cliff face there were other entrances to the mine with their own platforms and quays. Far across the divide she could see the landscape was punctuated by steep, craggy purple peaks interspersed with dark, mysterious forests. It was breathtaking. She started to think that maybe a planet didn't need to be crawling with people in order to entice her to explore it.

Breaking into a light jog, she caught up with the group as they entered a mine shaft. Omar shifted his belt so that the hilt of his blaster was visible, peeking out the front of his overcoat as a passive warning, but he waved affably all the same at a foreman standing above on a scaffold. For the first time Rey noticed Lena was armed as well - now that she was outside of a shipping crate, it was hard to miss her weapon when it was so publicly hung, in full view as it swung loosely from her hip. The foreman, who bore a crown of horns and sported an interesting array of facial tattoos, waved back and called a short greeting before returning to his work. These people knew Omar - knew his operation... but he was still not the kind to take chances. Suspicious of everyone. Rey wished she could be more like him, but wasn't sure she could.

"Down here," Omar beckoned, and they followed him into a narrow passageway carved into the rock. "It's slippery, be careful. They use water when they excavate, keeps the dust down."

He was right - the air was heavy and wet, and smelled of dirt and lye, yet the temperature was mild. Her feet slid over the slick, mud-covered rocks. Damp walls pressed in around them, forcing them to walk single file. If one wasn't claustrophobic, it could almost have been considered comfortable. But it also made the prospect of escape, if necessary, problematic. Great. Now she really was becoming suspicious like Omar. After twisting and turning through a maze of lefts and rights that Rey did her best to memorize, they reached a closure in the tunnel - a fall of boulders and debris.

"It's... it's collapsed - what's on the other si- "

"Lesson number one!" Omar cheered brightly as he ignored her, stepping in front of the group and clasping his hands together like a teacher addressing a class. "Lifting rocks!"

Of course - an opportunity to learn! It was a great place to start. Actual rocks even! She was only envious that they were beginning their education at a much younger age than she was when she started hers... what little she got formally. She took a step forward to assist, but Omar beat her to it.

"The first thing you'll want to do," he began, "is pick a rock." He laid his hand on a particularly round and grey one at waist height. "Like this one. Then close your eyes. Clear your mind, complete blank. Then picture the rock."

That was the point where Rey couldn't help herself. She tried so hard, she really did. After all, the man was kind enough to essentially risk everything in order to offer them safe harbor, even when he didn't want to. She wasn't trying to insult him... but she couldn't choke on her bemusement either.

She snorted.

She clapped a hand over her mouth. She bent over. She turned away. She tried everything she could, in earnest, to smother her laughter, but failed utterly. She blamed Luke Skywalker. If he hadn't tickled her hand with a blade of grass the first time she learned a lesson in the ways of the Force, she wouldn't have developed such a warped sense of humor about it.

"Oh sure, Miss 'I'm a Jedi, but look - the tunnel's collapsed!' how could I forget," Omar chided. "I've counseled tons of little people like this in the fine art of lifting rocks, but you - YOU - are the expert here, clearly... by all means, teach us, oh Wise Jedi Master."

"Technically, I'm not a- " she began, wiping her eyes.

"Rey," Finn interrupted, "shut up and show the kids how to lift a rock." He just grinned and leaned against the wall, crossing his ankles. He waggled his eyebrows at Omar in a show of pride for his friend.

"Fine. But maybe let's start from the top of the pile instead of the bottom, 'kay?" Instead of standing in front of them, she decided to stand behind them where she wouldn't be a distraction, just as Luke had stood to her side, just out of her periphery, during her first lesson. Omar sauntered away to take his place next to Finn, crossing his arms in silent judgement. "First, I want everyone to sit down - I know, I know it's muddy, but trust me, if you're relaxed, you'll focus."

"And you'll do their laundry later," Omar chastised.

"That's fine. Now," the stones were cool and rigid, and her pants were now wet and gross, but she paid it no mind, "I want you to just relax. Let's just take a breath, okay? One good deep breath in," she held it for a moment, "now let it out, nice and slow. One more, alright? One more. Breath in... and let it go."

She could feel it all around - the warm buzzing of electricity, the ringing in her ears, the feeling of connected-ness... the Force. Like a bug in a web, the Force was a matrix within which they were all suspended across time and space. And there was the tickle... the tickle where her neck met her shoulders.

"Now, put your hand out in front of you, just reach out... hold it in the air in front of you." She thought she felt a tremor in the ground beneath her. Perhaps it was a simple byproduct of being in close proximity with so many people wielding the Force at once - up until then, the only other people she knew like her was Luke or Leia... and _him_... and never in the same place at the same time. "Just hold it there for a moment. I want you to think about everything it touches - everything that is connected to your hand where it is right now."

"The air!" the youngest boy blurted immediately. Oh, working with children was going to be fun...

"Yes, there's air, that's true - but what else can you feel? Reach out."

"Ummm, the rocks?"

"Can you feel them?"

"I can!" his sister exclaimed in something like common sibling competition.

"It's... it's like a tingle..." the Twi'lek girl said.

"Yes! That's it - it _is_ like a tingle!" Rey answered her. "It starts with your fingers, but spreads all over. Focus on that."

"There's nothing," Ali said, meekly. "There's... there's nothing there..."

"Is it really nothing?" she asked him, suddenly vigilant for his success. She wondered if Luke had ever ached for Ben's success. Was this what being a teacher was really like? How would she feel if she failed him? "Is there really nothing there? What is nothing? Is there really any such thing? Even in the emptiness of outer space, the Force is still there, connecting us."

"I... I guess it's just the air, then," he responded, "but... more. It's... it's hard to feel." He sounded afraid. The ground shook again.

"It's only hard because it's new," she reassured him, "and that's perfectly normal. I couldn't feel it until I was much older than you. Don't give up, just keep trying."

"I... there is something there... it's... it's cold."

"Is it cold like a stone?"

The ground shook yet again, the rumble lasting a few seconds longer this time. Was it working?

"It is cold!" the younger girl said. "Betcha it's a stone."

"Feel for its edges," Rey instructed. "Between where the cold ends and the air begins - that's the Force. It's sort of a... a feeling that binds them together."

"Oh," Ali breathed, "it is like a tingle."

"Yes! Yes! Now, just let that tingle touch your fingertips. Let it travel up your arm, then let it fill you." The vibration in the earth rattled up her spine again, strong enough this time that she opened her eyes and looked at Omar and Finn. They were both staring at the stone above their heads and she did her best to ignore the alarming look of concern that crossed Omar's face. Something wasn't right. She was afraid of the shaft they were trapped in - afraid to start lifting - but she was more afraid to draw attention to her worries. Omar did say he'd done this before... and they couldn't stay there.

"You are now connected to the rock," she continued with vigor. "I know that sounds funny, but that's the best way to describe it. The Force is there to help you - guide it with your wishes, and let it guide you, like push and pull. Work together, in balance. And keep breathing! Nice and slow. Use your arm and lift the rock. Just... lift it."

Rey held her breath and waited. This was a totally new sensation, exploring what potential lie in others instead of just herself. The tickle at the base of her neck was positively humming with the feeling of cosmic connection, all of them linked together to form a newer, larger whole. She brimmed with giddy pride as she watched the stones begin to clumsily jiggle, tumble, and then roll into the air, one by one.

"You're doing it! You're doing it!" she squealed, pressing her hands to her lips. "Open your eyes - look!"

There was a sudden crack like a small explosion. Rey jumped, but covered her mouth with a hand before she could scream. At what point did she get this tense? Dusty powder fell to the ground in front of Ali before the two broken halves of his stone followed to land at his feet with heavy thuds. Immediately he curled in on himself, smashing his forehead into his knees to hide the tears that sprung from his eyes.

"Hey," Omar swooped in like a vulture. He was kneeling at Ali's side faster than she'd seen anyone move in her life. "Hey now, it's okay man - look at what you did! Look how far it moved - that thing was huge! You should be proud of yourself!"

He wasn't, though. He was scared. Of himself. He was strong enough to split a huge stone in half and he was terrified. Was this why he was here? Did his mother send him away because she was... oh man. Lena deftly weaved her way between the students to push the crumbled pieces out of the way. Omar shifted to take a muddy seat next to the boy and put his arm around his shoulder.

"Kid, look at me," he asked him softly, "c'mon, look at me." Ali swallowed his embarrassment and lifted his teary eyes to meet him. "You did something amazing, okay? And don't worry - it was just a rock. Kids have been busting them up in here for years."

"B-but, what if it's not a rock next time?" Ali cried.

"Ali," Rey heard herself say out loud automatically, "no one is going to make you move anything other than rocks before you're ready. No one will make you - not me, not anyone." He hiccupped as he peered over his shoulder at her. "When I first started studying, I wreaked total havoc on an innocent village of nuns..." she laughed. "Complete. Wanton. Destruction. I'm sure they still tell stories about me to this day."

That made him relax. Two of the other children giggled and he rubbed his face against his sleeve. The moment was shattered, however, by another tremor, but this one was strong enough Rey had to put a hand out to steady herself.

"Would you stop doing that?" Omar turned to her and barked. "Seriously, it's getting a little- "

"It's not me! I thought it was all of..." the thought died in her throat. Dust and pebbles shook loose and clattered their way down to the ground. Something really _was_ wrong. And the tickle where her neck met her shoulders...

"Stay with them," she commanded Lena as her eyes beckoned Omar and Finn to follow her. They raced back through the maze of tunnels. As they ran sounds began to filter down to them from above - sounds they'd been too deep previously to hear. Sounds of jet engines and men shouting.

"You've got to be kidding me," Finn muttered as they reached the main shaft that exited out onto the quay. There were ships landing across the chasm and others zipping through the sky in front of them.

First Order ships. Some were TIE fighters, others were AALs that carried Troopers, ground vehicles, and larger artillery. And there, down the ridge, almost yet not quite outside the line of sight, was the battering ram - what Finn had called a "mini Death Star." From above, Rey imagined it looked more like a giant mega lightsaber. And it was doing its very best to stab a hole straight into the bare rock on their side of the cliff face.

"They're digging for us," Finn said. "They're trying to make themselves a short cut. Why wouldn't they just come through here...?"

"The workers must have tried to throw them off the trail," Rey guessed.

"They're gonna piss off the natives," Omar said. "They keep it up and they'll have a battle on their hands."

"Are the natives armed?" Rey asked. "Do you think they'll help us?"

"They're still pretty primitive, but they've bartered for better weaponry than sticks and stones, you can bet on that," Omar answered. "What you can't bet on is that they'll help us. They'll shoot at anyone they think is making trouble."

"If we alert them, though, it could still give us an edge," Finn said, hopeful.

"What if we move the rest of that dead fall in the tunnel?" Rey asked, "Is there a way out through there? Does it lead somewhere?"

"No - it's not designed to," Omar answered, "it's just a hiding place. No one ever thinks to look past a cave-in - they think it's dangerous and they just turn around."

"Of course," Rey groaned. Just when she thought she couldn't reach a new level of hopelessness... She pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes as she squeezed them shut, her small, lost steps turning her in dizzy little circles. They were caged animals, only prolonging the inevitable... "We can't escape him."

"Don't say that, Rey," Finn begged. "They're digging in the wrong place, we just have to- "

"No, Finn. Stop. You know it's true - we both know it, we just haven't been able to say it." She turned to him, her eyes fearful and imploring. "He's not after these children, not really. And he's not after you. It's _me_ he wants. This is _my_ fault. I'm putting you all in danger."

"That's not true, Rey, you know it isn't- "

"I have to face him."

"Don't be crazy! You _know_ what'll happen if you do!"

"Do I?" she shrugged as she shifted to stare out over the divide. "You said it yourself - he's in love with me. He killed Snoke to prove it to me. What if it's true?"

"I don't even want to know what you mean by that..." Omar grumbled, one eyebrow tilting.

"It's time to end this, Finn," she continued as she slipped the beacon off of her wrist and let her satchel slide down her arm. "There's nothing more important than this," she said, holding them out for him to take. "The survival of the entire Resistance depends on what's in here. There's also the Skywalker lightsaber and the ancient Jedi Texts. Everything is in here - everything. Make sure it all gets back to Poe."

"Rey," Finn said, yanking the satchel strap back onto her shoulder. He took the beacon but shook it in her face instead, snapping her out of her nihilism before he handed it back to her and added with a pointed finger, "look out there. Bear with me - just look."

"I don't under- "

"What do you see?"

"Certain death..."

" _Ships_ , Rey. _Ships_."

"What are you getting at?" Omar asked.

"It's just, well... maybe it's my turn to have a crazy idea. It just seems like there's an awful lot of ships sitting out there, empty once those Troopers disembark. And we happen to need a ship."

"We'd have to fight a lot of 'em off to try to take one," Omar stated.

"Would we? Look where they're going." Finn gestured at the hole being blasted into the cliff face. "They're going to pack themselves tight into a mine that they're currently rendering unstable. And we happen to have a small army of force users who now know how to do things with rocks... I'm just saying it's possible an 'accident' could happen."

"You want to cave them in," Rey breathed, her eyes gleaming with mischief, "and then steal a ship."

"One of those AALs would do pretty nice if it was commandeered in the service of the Resistance, wouldn't it?"

"You're a genius!" she beamed, a shot of hot excitement searing through her like a lance.

"I hate to be a spoil sport," Omar interjected, "but your exit strategy is still pretty lacking... they've got half the First Order fleet out there."

"Then we need the natives," Rey said. "I'll go to them. I'm the one that's best able to defend myself should anything happen, it makes sense."

"Except they'll shoot at you..."

"They'll _try_ to shoot at me," she corrected. "Don't forget, Omar - the Force is with me. The only thing I need to know is which direction to set off."

"You're serious about this, you're doing this... Mother of Makers," he groused before shaking his head and scrubbing his hand through his hair. "Fine. Your funeral. There's a road that leads up into the hills behind the ridge. Just a few clicks up that way you'll come to a trading post - it's the last bastion of civilization before heading off into the open wilderness. Sentry posted there should be able to point you in the right direction. But I still think this is nuts."

"You got a better idea?" Finn asked.

"Yeah - teach my bleeding heart to stop offering help to strangers. _Adult_ ones, anyway."

"Take this, Finn," Rey instructed. It was the satchel again. "I'll keep the beacon, but I don't want to risk dropping this in the woods on accident."

"Good call."

"Wish me luck." And with that, she set off.

* * *

She was halfway up the hill behind the ridge that lined the lip of the quarry where she made her fatal mistake. The hair at the back of her neck stood on end and she felt watched, close enough she could almost make out the rhythmic draw of someone's breath. Curious to see if maybe it was a native that had beaten her to the chase, and not even once thinking of how she was no longer hidden safely within the mine... she turned around.

And there he was. _Him_.

She saw him with her own eyes, and not through the will of the Force, for the first time since she left him lying mercifully unconscious on the throne room floor of the Supremacy. He was far enough away he hadn't noticed her yet, but close enough she could hear his soft and even, unaccented speech directing his men to do his bidding. And she was certain he could feel her. He stepped casually down from the exit ramp of his shuttle onto the quay. Per usual, he was bound and wrapped tightly in confining black from his chin to the ground. The only skin he ever chose to bare was his face, but even that would most certainly have been hidden in his fearsome mask had it not fallen victim to his typical brand of precipitous violence. Today, it was merely shadowed by the hood of the cloak he was draped in. That was, until she'd turned around. The moment her eyes had landed on him, he'd pulled the hood away.

He was paler than she remembered, a porcelain prince - the skin of his cheeks bore the same translucent sheen as exposed bone. And his eyes that were once deep and sad were now dark and hollow, and foreboding. He was a living, breathing effigy to solitude and sorrow. And when she saw him, he looked up and saw her. There was a spark of recognition that coursed between the two of them, and it transfixed her, slowing her steps to a halt as his lips parted and his eyes widened. For a split second, his expression was a conflicted composite of equal parts triumph and sadness. For a split second, time stood still.

For a split second, he was something familiar. He was an old friend she hadn't seen in a while, someone she could talk to. He was warm, sweet fingertips by a fire. For a split second... she missed him. But cold reality slapped her out of her reverie when his face contorted, clouded and reddened by rage. He didn't even wait for his men - he left them behind shrugging and confused as he succumbed to his own impulsive nature. He charged. And she ran.

In her haste to get away, she lost the road. Blindly she tore through thick forest, slicing through lush ferns and low branches that whipped across her face and snagged her hair and clothing, threatening to poke out her eyes. She had the advantage of distance on him, but not by much and he was taller than she was. She hadn't forgotten the sight of his naked torso - he was clearly of a muscular, athletic build. If he held a decent pace, he could catch her. The buzz that still ran down her spine had become claws that raked angry scratches across her back. She looked for a dark, wooded hollow or a rocky switch back, even a large tree or a patch of dense undergrowth- anything she could use to shake him loose - but she knew he'd always sense her. The only solace she took from her wild, crazed panic was that his attention was now solely on her, and no longer on Finn, Omar, and the children. She knew she couldn't outrun him and she wouldn't be able to lose him. She couldn't hide from him. She'd have to face him, there was no other choice.

But could she fight him? Truly take aim at him like she had once before in a forest, what seemed like ages ago? Could she fire her blaster and take the shot? Could she lift her hand to wrap the Force around his neck and strangle him? Watch the life drain from his eyes?

Before she was able to consider any other nauseating image that raced through her brain, she ran headlong into a stony rock fall that blocked her way, stopping her mindless exodus in its tracks. Her heart pounding, her breath coming in short bursts, and her eyes watering, she turned a quick, frightened circle. She was hopelessly lost. She was forced to stand her ground where no one would ever find her. She squared her shoulders and put her back against the boulders, listening to his footsteps quietly crunch through the leaves before she finally saw him. She willed her body to stop trembling as he stalked his slow but inexorable approach.

When he was standing before her, just the two of them alone in a patch of dappled green sunlight peeking through the trees, he locked eyes with hers and grew still for a moment - just long enough to revel in her discomfort and savor his victory. The heavy silence between them was only broken by creatures singing far off in the woods, rustled only by calm, gentle breezes. And there was the pulse of their twinned breathing, matched inhale for inhale, exhale against exhale. It was a shame that such a nice day had to go like this.

He spoke no words - no sinister monologue, no vile threats, no childhood sob story. He immediately got to business. He crouched low before her in a stance she'd come to learn was his entry to imminent combat, and drew his saber. It flared and crackled to glowing red life, and she straightened her spine to glare at him in dismay, accepting her fate. She was strangely sad he'd had nothing to say, disappointed that their time for communication was over, and that this was the way their bond would end, slashed open and left bleeding to die and rot. But in a final attempt to cling to the hope that some good still existed in him, she decided she would test his resolve. There was nothing left to lose. She readied herself by forming a pact with the Force to block his blow should he truly mean for it to land, and she waited him out, leaving her blaster untouched. He seethed as he paced in front of her, gathering his fury like clouds billowing before a storm. Then with a sudden cry, the light from his saber flashed and singed the air as it sliced a savage cut through the tranquil serenity, hungry for its mark.

And it came to an abrupt stop just two inches shy of her quivering, pale throat.

She flinched and sucked in a quick breath, but her eyes never left his. The invisible barrier she'd reserved for her own defense was still tightly wound around her waiting fist, unspent. She'd done nothing to stop him, she hadn't needed to - the hesitation was completely his own. He glowered murderous menace at her down the length of his blade, his gaze wild and shining with an unconvincing promise of impending death. He clenched his jaw and swallowed, lowering the blade and retreating only one or two steps before he steeled himself and raised it high again. She remained still, shivering but rigid - not out of fear this time but elation, emboldened by his obvious inability to coerce his body to obey his wishes.

"He can't do it," she thought to herself. It'd been an insane gamble, but she'd won. "Leia, your son isn't lost yet - sweet Mother of Makers, he can't do it!"

He screamed a battle cry of repressed rage and swung the saber down again, but this time to scorch a mark through the earth and detritus that littered the ground at her feet. He growled long and low in frustration at his ineffectual line of burning cinders as he extinguished the flame of his useless weapon and used his sleeve to wipe away the sweat that had beaded on his brow. Incensed with self-loathing over this shameful and humiliating display of impotence, he grunted and flung his arm back to launch his saber somewhere off into the bushes.

"DAMMIT!" he bellowed at the open sky.

He then crumbled inward on himself and twisted his hands into his hair. Mumbling something she couldn't hear, he stared at his feet and resumed his inane habit of pacing back and forth before her, rapt with disgust for his own perceived ineptitude.

"Would it be easier if I drew my weapon?" she teased him, unwilling to let him off the hook so easily. Affronted as if she'd further insulted his manhood, he whipped around to snarl at her.

"You don't even understand- "

"What I don't understand," she yelled at him, jabbing a finger in the direction she thought the First Order fleet might lie, "is why you think you belong with them in the first place! You want to change the galaxy? Great! That sounds fantastic! But is killing it with fire really the best way to do that?"

"I'm sorry - did I stutter?!"

"I think you're lying to yourself, that's what I think! I don't think you want to kill anything." A conviction he'd only just proved to her, quite sufficiently. "I think you hate your past because your past is nothing but Snoke. Snoke and your utter contempt for all the people you'd hoped would help you. Would free you from him. All the people who _failed_ you. Except me."

Finding her courage and enjoying the vibrant catharsis of actually being able to release her assault of words on him, she took a step forward. Maybe it was too large a step, or perhaps taken too quickly. Or maybe the intent was just simply misinterpreted. In any case, he gasped and staggered backwards, and within the span of a breath the saber he'd thrown away reappeared in his outstretched and shaking hand, brightly lit and ready for anything.

Sudden comprehension struck her - he was more afraid of her than she was of him. Afraid, at least, of confronting her... and all that entailed.

"I don't really care what you think. You don't know anything," he replied flatly, but his previous bluster was gone. Replaced by hers. She stared him down, daring him to strike at her again, knowing now more than ever that he'd never do it. In spite of his infamous manic temper and his bloodthirsty quest for power, there at that moment she had the upper hand and they both knew it. And she wanted an open line of communication - she wouldn't rest until he gave it to her.

"Don't I? I know that throne isn't anything you want!" She waved a hand in front of him. "You wanted your master's acceptance, not his throne! You want _anyone_ to accept you for who you are! And I know killing _me_ clearly isn't what you want. Put that stupid thing away," she gestured to his lightsaber. "Your past - your pain - is already dead. All of it. Is it just to completely surrender to the dark side of the Force now? Is that it? Is that what you want? What does that even mean? Do _you_ even know? What do you want?!"

His shoulders slumped in defeated silence as the light of his blade was snuffed once more. Letting its hilt fall limp to his side, he backed himself up to lean against a tree. He only shook his head, listlessly. He had no answer. For a moment he looked like a scolded child - he looked like Ali. He looked like a boy who had split a stone in half. He looked like a boy who believed he was too dangerous to be cared for. So he became a monster instead.

 _You're nothing. But not to me_. It made sense now, why he would say something like that. It meant something different to him. She already knew the answer, but she had to ask it anyway.

"If... if you wanted... if you wanted me - if you wanted us to stay together... then why didn't you..."

"Stop the assault over Crait?"

She only nodded.

"For what, Rey?" he answered. "So they could just fire on me later? You think they wouldn't?"

"I could've- "

"Could've what? Stopped them? Because you told them to? Do you think Hux would've stopped because I told him to? And think, for one second – what do you think he would have expected me to do to you? You infiltrated our flagship, Rey…"

Considering his words, it was her turn to back up and rest her back against the cool contours of the smooth, grey boulder behind her. She could only sigh and rub her nose, jittery and tired now that the adrenaline had started to drain from her system.

"Why did you..." he started and stopped, unsure. He glanced at her. Too late to take it back, he continued. "Is that why you drew your blade against me?"

"I..." Is that what he thought? Is that why he was so angry? "Ben, I only reached for it, that's all," she begged him. "That saber called to me, and I wasn't leaving without it. Besides, you said it yourself, I infiltrated the First Order flagship - _alone_ \- and it was falling apart in the middle of outer space! And I was watching everything I loved get blown to pieces, I... I had to get back to them, I had to try... and we both know I couldn't have gotten far unarmed. And, I guess... I didn't really feel the chances were all that great that you'd have just... let me go." The look he gave her was melancholy, but also noncommittal. That's why he'd asked her to join him - it'd been the only option that didn't put them at odds with each other. It'd been the only way to ensure they'd never end up meeting... like this. She knew then she hadn't been the only one guilty of clinging to a fantasy that perhaps wasn't necessarily meant to be. At least, not in the way he'd hoped it would play out. "I never reached for that saber to harm you, though, Ben. Not ever, not once. Not after... everything you'd told me."

She meant well when she said it… but she shouldn't have. Bringing up Luke was a mistake. Sadly, his fire was now stoked and their peace was broken.

"So that's why you left me alive then?" he spat. "So you can have the benefit of knowing you're better than Luke Skywalker? Did that make you feel good?"

"Yes," she answered honestly. "Yes it did. So what? Why shouldn't it? He did something terrible. And what difference does that make? You're still alive! It's also because I truly believe that you don't want to see me die any more than I want to see you die. It's now how this war is supposed to end. I still believe I saw our future, Ben."

"Yeah. The one where I stand with you? And the Resistance? Is that the one? Have I got that right?"

"Make fun all you want, Ben – I know it was just a vague shape, I know it, but it was clear and it was real! I know what I saw! And if it's the will of the Force, then- "

"The will of the Force - listen to you! Where was the will of the Force when I was being..." he choked on the words, letting them dissipate into thin air. He looked away, and brushed aside the unruly tangle of thick, black hair that had fallen into his eyes. "You know, I still don't understand why they're so important to you," he told her.

"Who... the Resistance?"

His silence was his answer.

"Ben," she said to him, "they're your father's Resistance, your mother's Resistance. Who cares why they're important to me - they're _your_ family! Why aren't they important to you?"

" _My_ family?!" he barked a cruel laugh as he straightened, stepping away from the tree. "That's just... no. No, no. No, you leave Jakku - of all places - to bring a droid back to its master and suddenly you're just... you're... No. You, you... you dig my father's ship out of some junk heap somewhere and suddenly everyone just- "

"It wasn't like that Ben!"

"Wasn't it?!" he yelled at her, moving closer. His growing intensity was enough to peel her away from her boulder. "You show up there with your strength in the Force, but you're sweet and you're pretty and you're innocent, and you're good," his voice broke on the last word and he balled his fists at his sides, "and you're not some dark, ugly little family secret they try to lock in a tower where no one will ever see it!"

"Ben, they didn't- "

"Yes they did! But then they took one look at you and they said to themselves, 'Look! Now we can fix all of our past mistakes and just sweep them under the rug where we can forget they ever happened!'"

"Ben..."

He bent at the middle and screamed at her, "They LEFT ME! And they just _loved_ you."

Startled, a flock of flying creatures took to the sky in a noisy cloud to find a quieter, safer place to roost. The echoes of his voice dissolved into silence, save for the ragged breaths that accompanied his heaving shoulders. Rey approached him, slowly and a little afraid, but this time... he didn't back away. She knew it was risky - the full extent of his wrath was the open wound he'd just shared with her - but she did it anyway. She placed a hand on his shoulder. He let her do that too.

"Ben," she said to him, "... your father came back for you."

He only turned his face to sneer at her with red-rimmed eyes glistening with unshed tears.

"I hate you," he told her.

"I know," she replied. "But I don't hate you."

"Then why..." he swallowed thickly, staring at the ground. She gripped his shoulder as it rose and fell, could feel the corded tension in the muscles beneath. It was the only other time she thought she could truly remember touching him physically, aside from brief, heated contact during their fight in the throne room. "Why wouldn't you let me see her?"

Leia. He was asking about Leia. See her as she lay dying, through the eyes of their bond with the Force.

"You know why," she answered him. "If we could see each other, and touch each other, then we could find each other. And then you and I would be doing this very thing right here at your mother's funeral. Before you opened fire on everyone else and made more funerals for me to attend. I had to protect them, Ben, and don't even tell me you wouldn't do the same. Aren't you tired of death?"

He turned to look her straight in the eye, his voice scarcely more than a whisper, "I..."

His response was cut off by a series of concussive booms - echoes of an explosion ricocheting off the walls of the canyon somewhere back through the forest. An ice cold shock of fear lanced through her as she sidestepped him to try to peer through the lines of trees. She blinked as the ground beneath them shook, rocked by another, louder explosion.

"What on earth..." he muttered as he turned in the direction of the quarry.

"It's your battering ram," she accused him, her tone frigid.

"No," he replied, "it's just... it's just drilling, I don't know what would cause that... unless it's under attack..."

The natives... but she never made it. Did they come anyway? Drawn by the commotion? Finn! Was it Finn? And Omar? The children! Were they...? Kylo Ren had already walked away, his feet following his curiosity.

"Wait," he mused as he turned his head to her over his shoulder, "did… dammit, did you just honeypot me?"

She couldn't let him get there... she couldn't let him find them. No matter what she felt for him, war had a philosophy, and she had priorities.

"Don't you dare!" she called at his back, suddenly flushed with a surge of maternal protective instinct. "You leave them alone!" She unleashed the wall of Force she'd kept ready for her command, and she pushed him. He lurched forward, caught off balance, but his years of training had made him nimble enough to keep on his feet. Out of reflex from that same training, however, he whipped around and returned a volley, perhaps stronger than he'd really intended.

Rey remembered sailing through the air and striking something solid. She remembered a crack and flash of white before her vision grew fuzzy and faded to black. After that it was only the tender stroke of a thumb against her cheek, the soft tickle of warm breath against her ear... and _his_ voice.

"I... I'm sorry. And I don't hate you. But now we're even."

Then she fell unconscious. When she awoke a short time later, he was gone.


	9. Ch 9: The Children (Part Three)

**Ch 9: The Children (Part Three)**

Finn would never have described himself as someone with a nervous disposition before he'd escaped his life of servitude to the First Order, but nervous was all he'd been afterwards, and this was no exception. Constant running, constant dodging blaster fire, constant threats of decapitation by crazy metal-clad women wielding vibro-blades... and now constant worry about missing friends and cave ins. The only thing worse than a fear of dying was the waiting. Sweet baby Ewok tears, the waiting.

The shaft where he and Omar had made their stand was strategically sound. They'd barricaded themselves in well behind carefully piled walls of stone, and the children were safe inside their camouflaged little "bunker." The mine workers that hadn't made a run for it were helping them return fire, and there was a satisfying pile of scorched and shattered Trooper armor growing in between them. But little alarm bells were still clanging in the back of Finn's mind: the first was to remind him that the battering ram across the canyon was still drilling, shattering the structural integrity of the mine and leaving it precariously unstable. Not only did that obviously put the children at considerably more risk, there was also the eventuality that, should the mine miraculously remain upright, the Troopers digging and filling the newly blasted tunnels would reach the children from behind, where they were still mostly vulnerable aside from the muddy stone walls of the cave.

The second alarm was to remind him that Rey had not yet returned.

Scant few moments after Rey had left the mine shaft, intent on cresting the ridge above them in search of aid from a native population that was equally likely to open fire on them, Finn had heard telltale shouts and curses outside that'd led him to believe his friend was not entirely okay. Before he could do anything about it, however, their position was compromised and they'd been in heavy combat ever since. The rest had merely been a quest to survive until Rey returned and help arrived.

That all changed the moment a large explosion rattled Finn to his core, from his heels to his teeth. Explosions, yes of course! Close ones even! Why not? One more thing to be nervous about! A large ball of flame erupted outside the entrance to the mine shaft, and shrapnel and debris were sent flying in all directions as an object tumbled out of the sky to crash into the chasm below.

"What in the..." Omar mumbled as the next wave of Troopers to enter the shaft were flattened to the ground by the force of the blast, creating a temporary cease fire as they all turned to see what had caused the commotion.

"Was... was that a TIE fighter?" Finn asked.

"It was, which also means that was a shield-piercing GTA missile."

"Who on earth around here would have ground to air- "

"Didn't I _tell_ you these natives weren't just dealing in sticks and stones?!"

"Rey! She's gotta be out there!"

"I wouldn't get your hopes up, buddy."

Spirits lifted in spite of Omar's dour attitude, Finn left the cover of the barricade to press the advance against his enemy while they were still down, but he staggered wildly as another blow struck the cavern - a second TIE fighter had bashed itself against the cliff face outside. Fearing collapse, the remaining mine workers made haste during the break in combat to clamber down from their scaffolding and seek safer ground. Finn lifted his blaster sights to his eyes, ready to neatly dispatch his enemy before they came to their senses, but they were mowed to bits by a blazing curtain of automatic gun fire.

Gulping down his anxiety, Finn kept his weapon at the ready as he edged closer to the opening of the shaft to peer out onto the quay. Chaos raged all around them. From above and out of his line of sight a rainbow-colored miasma of blaster fire and assault missiles continued to rain down on their enemy across the chasm, launched by an unseen ally for which Finn was eternally grateful. The Troopers that weren't pouring themselves into the new tunnel dug by the battering ram were scrambling for cover, dropping portable energy barriers of static electrical charge or simply hiding themselves behind fallen rocks or durasteel flotsam from the fighters that had crashed all around them. They returned fire as best they could, but their position down the cliff face held them at a disadvantage - they were cleanly being picked off one by one by snipers up above. Finn was so intent on watching the scene play out before him that he nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt breath on the back of his neck. It was a small miracle he didn't accidentally shoot his own head off.

"Looks like your transport is empty." It was Omar, leaning over him to get a better view. TIE fighters were still descending from the sky, but they watched as another was struck, cartwheeling away to crash land somewhere off in the distance. "Ground troops are distracted and the fleet is engaged - might be a good time to make a break for it."

"What? No! No way! We have to wait for Rey!"

"Wait?! Really?! We're not gonna get another chance, man - we've gotta go! Now!"

"We can't just leave her! Take a look around - she brought help! She's gonna pop up any second now!"

"You think so, huh? Buddy, face it, the cavalry's arrived," he jutted a hand out at the ridge over their heads, "but it's here without her. If she's not here by now, she ain't coming."

"Just give her a little more time," Finn begged. "I'm sure she's just- "

"She's dead, man. But you're not. Come on - we've gotta- "

"You don't know that! You don't know her!" Finn fought hard to keep the despair out of his voice, to keep it from minimizing the credibility and seriousness of the conviction he was aiming to impart. His new growing paranoia was no help. "She's a Jedi, man - a real one! She made it in _and out_ of the First Order flagship by herself once, she's faced Kylo Ren himself _and won_ on multiple occasions, she's dealt with way worse than this! You have no idea how powerful she is!"

"Then where is she? Look, Finn - it's Finn, right? Look. Those natives out there think that every living thing that walks in and out this mine is an intruder on this planet - they are willing to shoot at anything that moves, and they are currently bringing down some pretty heavy collateral losses on the Order, okay? I don't care how powerful you think she is - their rules have been broken, they are really, _really_ pissed off about it, there's a whole lot of them, and one Jedi is not enough to withstand fire power like that all alone. You wanna stay here and die with her? That's your business! But I made a promise to these kids that I intend to keep, and we're not gonna get another window like this to nab that ship!

"Got half a mind to leave you here anyway!" Omar yelled over his shoulder as he walked back into the mine. "This operation was working _just fine_ until you two came along and screwed it all up!"

Rather than curse at the man as he watched him stomp away, leather overcoat billowing with each purposeful stride, Finn returned his sights to the canyon and the battle being waged outside. The tactical part of his brain that was still a trained Trooper knew Omar was right and could see the opening clear as crystal before him - clear as a gambler could call a bluff on a tell. The straight path between the mine shaft and the transport ship on the quay was completely empty. The line in the sky between the quay and the saddle-shaped pass through the mountains was free and clear, leaving them an easy head start to make their escape for open space before they drew any attention from the fleet. His hand reached up to stroke the length of the satchel strap that clung like a cross to his shoulder. Inside that satchel were all the sacrifices they'd made to keep their Resistance from dying. Inside that satchel was everything they'd fought so hard to earn to keep their hopes alive. Inside that satchel was the ability to lend aid to underground railroads that rescued innocent children from war-torn areas. Inside that satchel was the key to rebuilding a new Jedi Order.

Even though his stomach churned with guilt and he couldn't convince his feet to budge - even though every cell in his body screamed at him with accusations of betrayal and disgust... he knew Omar was right. He couldn't wait for Rey, and Rey would never want him to. That satchel was everything. It was life or death. It was the first priority - the only priority. And it was up to him, now, to ensure that it got off world.

Far across the gaping divide the mine had split in the earth, Finn's eyes were drawn to the trees that carpeted the base of the distant mountains. He thought he saw movement between them, like the ground was crawling with a swarming infestation. It was people - a small army of people - natives moving to flank the Order from behind. The situation was about to evolve from an ugly skirmish into a total catastrophe. There really was no better time to get away.

Reeling with a new sense of urgency, Finn found his feet and made no hesitation to begin pilfering any useful item he could carry from the pile of fallen Troopers littering the mine shaft. He stuffed spare weapons into the satchel and had started stripping away pieces of plastoid armor when he heard a shout out on the quay.

"My lord!" it called.

Finn then heard the earsplitting scream of something that didn't sound human before he looked up and watched a small, strangely colored body fly over the ridge to plummet into the dizzying depths below. Gunshots fired but never made their mark, and two more bodies followed the first to be swallowed whole by the canyon. Outside on the walkway was a tall, black hooded figure, his hand still outstretched.

It was Kylo Ren.

"My lord," the first voice called again, closer this time. General Hux had stepped quickly in line with a quad of Troopers as they'd marched out of the Upsilon-class shuttle that had touched down next to the AAL on the quay. Deftly dodging bolts that had pelted the ground at their feet, they'd scurried up the platform that lead to the mine. "In here," he gestured toward the opening, "we could convert this shaft into a suitable situation room, so long as we could render it justifiably- "

His eyes met Finn's and he stopped cold where he was. One could actually have heard the sweat dripping down Finn's face.

"The traitor," Hux breathed as Ren stalked ahead past his shoulder. Finn stumbled backwards, his pulse racing in stupefied disbelief as he watched the walking nightmare pull the hood away from his shadowy black eyes. Finn knew better than to think Ren would be shocked to see him here - after all, they'd been playing a game of space chase for at least two planets now, arguably more. Only to lose now... But there was something else about the way he looked at him. He expected him to look hungrier or more predatory, but instead he looked like someone who just finished a disappointing meal that didn't sit quite right. He looked like someone who just wanted to get this over with. He looked tired and spent.

Was it was because...? Rey... Hadn't she said something eerily fatalistic about facing him? Oh stars alive, she had - and they'd just let her go! Like idiots! Ren had already dealt with her, he just knew it, and now he was here, and... Finn unconsciously lifted his blaster, his arm shaking with fear and grief as the quad of Troopers stormed forward to meet him, weapons high.

"Where is she!" he yelled, his voice echoing off the cavern walls. "What have you done with her?!" The tension was palpable.

"You want him dead or alive, my lord," Hux sneered from his place of comfortable safety, hidden behind the men that had Finn outnumbered four to one. Ren sighed in quiet apathy, then turned to the entrance of the shaft to stoically clasp his hands behind his back and stare out over the chasm at the mountains beyond. "Very well," Hux decided in his stead, malice gleaming from beneath his clammy orange brow. "Open fire."

Finn dropped and somersaulted back to the barricade of stones he'd used for protection earlier, but not before a white hot shot seared through the meat of his left thigh. He cried out in pain, but adrenaline numbed him and he pushed it into the background. He did his best to fend them off with rapid blaster fire, but the Troopers were pressing forward and two split to either side, flanking him the same way the indigenous army was flanking the First Order ground artillery while Ren looked on in icy nonchalance. Finn was able to dash backwards into the mouth of the tunnel that lead further into the mine in order to escape his enemy's caging maneuver, but he had trouble getting any further - he had trouble getting his leg to work right.

"Trust in the will of the Force," he told himself as he squeezed his eyes shut and grit his teeth. He wasn't going down without a fight.

The volley of shots between Finn and his pursuers had reached a deadly, fervid pitch when he suddenly felt himself pushed forward as if by a strong gust of wind. He nearly bit his tongue in half when his face smashed into the ground. He managed to keep hold of his gun, but had to wipe the mud out of his eyes as he rose to see what had happened. There was a flurry of movement all around him, and his vision cleared just in time to see all four Troopers fly backwards to collide with resounding thuds against the solid walls of the cavern.

Kylo Ren whipped around. He managed a bit more enthusiasm now, his gaze alight and intense as he watched his Troopers crawl back to their feet after having been flung haphazardly like they were nothing more than boneless rag dolls.

"Kriffing son of a- " Omar cried in panic as he dove behind the barricade, yanking his daughter and their young charges down by their shirts and belts to cram them all in a heap firmly against its protective barrier. "Dammit! I swear I leave you for five minutes!" Their window of opportunity had been nailed shut tight as a coffin the moment he saw Kylo Ren, his personal demon, standing like a dark sentinel blocking their only exit. They had no other choice now but to fight their way into what was really just a passable contingency plan. There was no way out but through.

More curious than agitated, Ren drew his crackling, volatile red saber and moved forward in an attempt to provoke his newcomers into action - into revealing themselves. The moisture clinging to the damp walls of the mine bounced flickering red reflections of light all around them, throwing hideous shadows and transforming the cavern into a vile sort of infernal hellscape.

"You've got guns, don't you?!" Finn called to Omar, pain and fear lining the edges of his voice. "You forget how to use 'em?"

At the mere suggestion that there was possibly more than one opposing enemy weapon, General Hux drew his own and flattened his back against the cave wall, sliding himself along its length until he was flush with the exit. Ducking low to keep from exposing himself to any errant shot outside, he pressed two fingers to an earpiece communicator to radio ahead for assistance. They were just as trapped as Finn and Omar.

Ren, however, recklessly ambivalent about firearms or enemies or threats of imminent bodily harm, only cocked his head, his interest piqued as he continued his slow, inquisitive approach. Finn had seen that look before, the one that knitted his eyebrows together and pulled his shoulders forward. The one that beckoned him to examine, moving cautiously step by step. The one that said the Force was speaking to him, volumes that Finn couldn't hear. He'd seen it on Rey's face once - on the transport ship when they'd first met Omar and the children. That was it... the children. He sensed the children.

"Stop right there," Omar shouted in a fit of foolish, desperate bravado, "I will defend them with my life if I have to!"

"Defend who?" Ren asked, his voice sickeningly soft and even. Unphased like the super-powered menace he truly was, he stopped but only to investigate, and he completely ignored the blaster barrel that suddenly flashed into existence. True to his word, Omar lined up his weapon's sights - his resolve was steel forged by fire. Really, really stupid fire. The Troopers chose their victims in turn, prepared to do their duty. Lena and Finn had no choice but to follow suit.

"I'll take right!" Lena cried, unsatisfied with the stalemate, and that was her only warning. Fast enough to score ace marks in Trooper weapons accuracy training for someone her age, Lena shot down the armored men to their right in only two shots.

"Ohhhoooookay, we're doing this!" Finn stuttered as he strafed to cover, limping on a leg that protested against holding his body weight. He blindly fired shots every which way, praying to the Force that they hit their intended targets before he collapsed on top of a squirming pile of children. As the remaining Troopers fell smoking to the ground, Omar fired his shot - just one shot. The only shot he needed - one dead-eyed shot.

Unsurprisingly, the bright streak of energy froze in mid-air.

Ren didn't even flinch when he raised his hand to stop it. Even with his squad nothing more than a mass of bleeding cinders moaning on the ground, they were hopelessly outmatched by Kylo Ren. At least that's what Finn thought until the barricade in front of him pulled apart and levitated like floating, earthen puzzle pieces. What happened next happened so fast it almost seemed to take place in slow motion.

"No," Omar begged, but was ignored. The children - no longer hidden, no longer protected - lined up together, standing tall, straight, and unafraid. They were a surging tide of untamed power in the Force, quadrupled in their combined effort with each other. Ren had the presence of mind to widen his eyes a bit before the children, in unison, each pulled back an arm and pushed forward. In the fraction of a second the gently bobbing flock of stones that hovered ominously above the ground between them became a flying cloud of heavy missiles that they launched directly at their enemy.

Ren pivoted at the hip and swung a leg behind him for support as he flung his other hand out in front of him. His lightsaber bounced and clattered where it fell forgotten at his feet. He managed to freeze this new deadly onslaught as well, but not without taking recoil. His feet left a scraped gouge mark in the dirt as his body was pushed backwards by the force. His breath now came in bursts and sweat began to glisten on his upper lip. He bared his teeth in something that was either irritation or exertion, or both.

"Run! Go - now!" cried a small voice that could have been the boy named Ali.

"...what?" Omar could only stammer, confused.

But then, taking advantage of the split in his concentration, the blaster bolt shimmered and jiggled, then was nudged into finishing its trajectory.

"Mmph!" Ren grunted as he fell backwards, clutching his right shoulder where the blast had struck, searing his flesh with a flare of angry orange sparks. He cried out again in alarm and scuttled for purchase in the mud as boulders hammered the ground all around him. Hux shouted into his communicator as he continued to try to direct an extraction team to their position - he pointed his weapon to shoot but yanked his hand up to his eyes to shield them from the splash of water, dirt, and pebbles.

And then the children ran.

"GO! GO! GO!" Omar bellowed, coming to his senses. "Finn, cover us!"

Finn only blinked once, he could swear, and they were already tearing down the walkway that lead to the quay. Omar had his blaster up, sighted high over his head firing at anything that dared to shoot at his kids. Once Finn got his feet underneath him, he followed them out, hot on their heels. Outside he turned and limped as he ran backwards, ready to make himself the last line of defense between them and the specter of death that was breathing down their backs. What he saw, however, brought bile to his mouth.

Hux had lifted his gun to take aim, but never got the chance to place the shot. Ren, his torn sleeve revealing only a glancing burn on his right arm, had made use of his leonine reflexes and had already sprung back upright. His saber was still at his feet, but the hand that should have reached to grab it had a fierce grip on something else.

He had a grip on Ali.

Finn only had a millisecond to see the look on Ren's face. To his surprise, there was nothing sick or malignant about it - there was none of the slavering, child-killing froth that Finn had expected to see. Instead he saw a breathless sort of juvenile fascination. It wasn't enough to persuade him to let the boy go, though, and Kylo Ren was well known throughout the galaxy for three things: power, unpredictability... and murder.

There wasn't a thing that Finn could have done. The moment the sight made sense - the moment his thoughts coalesced into a cohesive whole inside his mind - Ali sliced an arm out in front of him. A terrifying crack resounded through the canyon and the cliff face shifted. Stone split from stone and in one cataclysmic slide the entrance to the mine shaft collapsed, the avalanche throwing clouds of dust and jagged shrapnel in a wide, devastating arc. Echoes of screams stunned him into slack-jawed bewilderment as he watched small, strangely-colored bodies tumble and fall into the chasm.

The gun fire that kept zipping past his face, however, motivated him to keep running... with or without the innocent boy trapped inside the mine. With Kylo Ren.

"Where's- " Omar began when Finn caught up to him.

"Keep going!"

"But- "

"Do you wanna save them or die here?!"

"No - I can't just- "

"What're you gonna do, man - shoot him out?! Not that ship - the other one!"

The children had already scampered halfway up the AAL's boarding ramp when Finn changed his mind. He stumbled and nearly fell to avoid being ripped open by two bright blasts. Omar, dancing on his toes with uncertainty, returned cover fire while gripping Finn's jacket to jerk him back to his feet.

"Tha- that wasn't the plan!"

"That's a command shuttle - it has hyper drive!"

"But- " Omar sidled his way up to the ship, pressing his back against its hull and keeping his young wards relatively safe within its shadow. "But what are its defenses?! Can it shoot?!"

"Do you wanna leave this system or not!"

"Fine!"

Finn followed them on board the sleek, shining black craft, its towering wing span reaching for the heavens like a cleric praying for benediction. He toppled forward when his leg failed him again, flopping into the pilot's seat and flailing wildly for the controls. The path ahead was still clear. Out of his left periphery, he could see a blazing, fiery column of light slash at the belly of the sky hanging over head - the indigenous army had reached the battering ram and had flipped it on its back in their attempt to push it over the side where it would dash its working innards against the rocks down below. The time was now. He spun up impulse engines to get them buoyant and hovering, and then he gunned the throttle.

Immediately once they were airborne, however, he flipped the switches for the onboard sensor array, and performed a wide sweep for the frequency pinging out of the beacon Rey still wore on her wrist.

* * *

It took all of Hux's capability to stifle his own panicked gasps for breath. He felt like a tiny, terrorized little rodent paralyzed with fear inside a hole, trying remain invisible and unnoticed by two hungry, circling predators. Two forces of nature in possession of uncanny abilities that would allow them to break bones or crush windpipes or cause avalanches. And all Hux had available for his defense was his blaster, useless in the inky pitch black of the entombing, suffocating cavern... and his equally useless communicator, whose sudden disappearance from the grid he hoped would potentially alert help from the outside. There were still dull, muted rumblings - evidence of the battle still being waged on the other side of the fallen wall of rocks - but in his immediate vicinity, in the placid, damp acoustics of the cave, all he could hear was the ringing in his ears from the sudden silence, and his own ragged gulps for air.

And then there was Ren. Ren and his insufferable tone, so artificially calm, a faulty attempt to disguise the spark of his renowned short fuse.

"Are you afraid of the dark, child?"

Although rationally Hux knew Ren was speaking to the boy, he couldn't stop the shiver that ran the length of his spine, a flashback to scarier times in his unrepressed, ill-begotten youth.

"No," he continued, "no, you aren't. You're afraid of me." His footsteps on the slick stones rang softly against the surrounding walls. "It's okay. I understand that. You think I'll hurt you. Did she tell you that?" The girl. He was referring to the scavenger girl.

Hux clapped a hand over his mouth and nearly wet himself when the air suddenly sizzled and a hot flare of light cast the collapsed mine shaft in a wan, sinister sort of crimson glow. Swallowing the cry that had risen in his throat, it took only a moment for him to come to his senses. The deadly weapon Ren had brandished, a wolf amongst his prey, was merely being used as a source of light.

The timing should have been perfect. The light was dim, but it was enough to sight a target. It was not a difficult thing to believe how someone could have been killed in the attack, or even in the cave in - no one person was completely impervious no matter how powerful, anything could happen. Ren was so ensorcelled by the presence of another young man strong in his use of the Force, so blinded by his own pride and hubris, that he'd carelessly turned his back to his truest and greatest threat. But Hux still pulled his hand away from the butt of his weapon. The math was still wrong.

There was no guarantee the boy wouldn't act in self-defense the instant Ren's body hit the ground. There was no telling what act of violence the boy would unwittingly wreak upon Hux's own meager flesh, more afraid of a man firing a blaster in a confined space than willing to see him as a hopeful savior. If Hux killed both Ren and the boy, there was no way out of the mine, unless he waited for First Order forces to come dig him out... if ever. If they suffered a loss outside and were forced to retreat... that day may never come. And even if the boy made no action after the death of his captor, there was no way to know he'd be able to reverse the damage he'd caused and set them a path to freedom.

Another time, then. Patience was his only vigil.

"I know more about fear than you might think," Ren said, his voice low and sweet. He flounced his cloak and tugged at his pant legs, kneeling before the boy in a disarming display of misplaced trust. "I know what it does. I know how to use it." The boy seemed to relax his arms and shoulders a bit at the change in body language. He was still wary, but less likely to start flinging heavy boulders and sharp rocks. But then in a supreme act of mortifying, irresponsible risk, Ren uncharacteristically held out his legendary saber between the two of them, almost like a peace offering.

"You can hold it if you want to," he told the boy. "It won't hurt you." The boy did as he was told, but perhaps less out of curiosity and more out of instinctual self-preservation. One swing would have been all it would've taken to cleanly remove Ren's head from his shoulders. But the boy would never be so brave. _They are the opiate of the masses_. It made sense now, what Xindi had said about the Sith. _We need this war to wear a terrifying mask_. Psychological complacency won through the simple facade of fear. The boy let the blade droop a bit under the unexpected weight of the weapon, but his mouth was open and his eyes were riveted to the thing - he'd been completely seduced by the power and the wonder and the legacy of it. A real lightsaber.

"Do you feel it?" Ren asked. "The energy?"

"The Force?" the boy replied, but Ren gave no answer. "It... it hurts," the boy said. "It's hurting. Something hurts. It's... it's coming from you." He turned his head and offered wide eyes, afraid perhaps he misspoke. Hux expected Ren to snatch the blade back from the boy, ripping it from his small, guileless palm to ignore the accusation altogether. But instead he only held out his hand, giving the boy the choice to return the saber to its rightful owner on his own. One by one Ren's fingers curled themselves back around the black, cross-shaped hilt.

"It takes strength to wield it," Ren explained with greater patience and deliberation than Hux had ever seen him show. What... what was he playing at? Snoke would have killed the boy quickly and without suffering or prolonging the inevitable. Snoke only toyed with his prey when he had something to gain. What was happening here? What Ren said next cut the mystery away, revealing succinct, concise clarity.

"I can show you how."

An apprentice. He wanted to make him an apprentice.

Hux held his breath to keep from ruining the moment - he could scarcely believe his luck. The boy took a step back, a retreat into shadow. He was rightfully skeptical of the offer, but dangerously short on other options.

"What did she promise you?" Ren went on, trying to aggrandize his position. "Did she promise you safety? Did she tell you she'd teach you?" He waved a hand indicating the wild scene outside. "Do you think she could have succeeded?" Hux watched cold comprehension further darken the boy's face. The only reason the girl's traitorous friend and the rest of their rag tag entourage made any escape at all was because of him. The seed had been planted - it was almost a thing of beauty to watch it bloom, even if Hux was loathe to admit that Kylo Ren was capable of such a deft feat of cunning.

"I can show you how to make one of these," Ren said, solidifying his hold on the boy. He gazed lovingly at the fearsome, burning blade as he turned the hilt over in his hand. "One of your own." What young boy wouldn't die to have his own lightsaber? "I won't hurt you. I can show you how to be strong - how to survive. But we can't stay in here. Will you help me?" The boy nodded reluctantly but firmly, and the rest was an explosion of sound and chaos and destruction.

Between Ren and the boy, the rock fall was obliterated into clastic clouds of dirt and flying shards of rock. The sudden blast of sunshine and fresh air was blinding and enough to choke Hux into a fugue of sputtering coughs. Ren kept the boy close, and managed to narrowly miss severing important body parts as he spun and twirled his saber, deflecting weapons fire through his strange and otherwordly use of the Force while using his off hand to pull their assailants off the cliff or topple them to their doom. Hux could only crouch low to present himself hopefully less of a target while he shrieked into a communicator that was thankfully now properly functioning.

"Scrimmage Delta Squad to our position NOW - I don't care where they are or what they're doing! It is- " he winced and side-stepped a blast that scorched the ground at his feet, "dammit - it is absolutely imperative we clear a path! Under Lord Ren's insistence! We are under heavy fire! And we NEED ground assault on the eastern face - do you read me?! The eastern face!"

Five TIE fighters in tight formation screamed out of the sky unleashing a torrent of brilliant shots. Three were lucky enough to fire their load and pull their way out of the canyon, ready to make another pass. Two were not so lucky. Hux could only cradle his head in his hands and turn a circle for a moment, mentally calculating the financial losses they were incurring now on this next venture in a line of ridiculous mishaps, all made in the pursuit of Ren's fruitless crusade. But then his eyes landed on the boy.

This time it was different. This time... there was a net gain.

"Go," Ren breathed, indicating the walkway to the quay. The Upsilon shuttle was missing, either shot to pieces or, more likely, stolen, but the AAL transport still remained, smoking holes and sparking hull breaches notwithstanding. The recent assault by air had left a small gap in the action, allowing a clear path if they were quick. Hux wasted no time. They raced for the promise of metal encasement on board the larger ship. He didn't even fight Ren for the controls. This was the time for a seasoned pilot.

"Hold on," was Ren's only warning as they leapt for the air, as fast as the heavy transport would allow.

"What of the traitor?" Hux nervously inquired, his grip white-knuckled on a weapons rack that jostled noisily next to his seat. "And... and the girl?" Ren's jaw clenched, and he made a face that was difficult to decipher. He lost the ferocity of battle for a brief second and simply seemed just... far away. Had something happened? Had he misread the situation? "Shall I ready the Silencer when we dock with the Vindicator?" he pressed on.

For a long moment Ren said nothing. The tension in his jaw remained, but he craned around, watching for missiles while fiddling with buttons and switches on the console. Hux's stomach spun as they banked into a sharp turn, one he was surprised didn't finish out as an attempt at a full barrel roll. Ren was unaccustomed to something as awkward and ungainly as a clunky transport ship.

"Yes," he finally muttered, breaking his silence and coming to a decision. One that seemed dispassionate, lacking any sort of drive or aplomb. One that seemed more a matter of propriety.

"Very well," Hux replied and left him to the thankless task of saving their sorry hides.

Once back aboard the surety and the safety of the Vindicator, however, resting in orbit auspiciously out of sight and no longer in the throes of a fight or flight scenario, he was able to breathe more easily and allow his usual businesslike demeanor to return. Taking a kerchief to his brow and straightening his uniform to the crispness of code regulations, he sent a steward to prepare initial flight checks on Lord Ren's ship, watching the man himself march away with the boy in tow, presumably to secure him within the prison of his new luxurious yet... oppressive accommodations.

"General, sir," it was Belloth who had appeared at Hux's shoulder, having come down from his place at central command to greet his commanding officer upon returning to the ship. "It's good to see you in one piece."

"I could not agree more, Commander."

"With all due respect, sir," he began, "I cannot fathom what possessed you to step foot on that wretched dung heap to begin with. Was your place not here?"

"My place is where the Supreme Leader expects me," was his taciturn response. "When Lord Ren wishes to risk life and limb, it sends an ill message if his Generals are not beside him, wouldn't you think?"

"That sounds stupid, Armitage. Cut the crap."

"Oh for... for stars' sake, man, you know why I went down there - for," he glanced around, wishing to keep their conversation discreet, his voice reducing to a hoarse whisper, "for an opportunity, you dullard!"

"And yet he returns... and now he's multiplied it seems?"

Hux could only laugh. It started as a gentle, pleasant tickle in the pit of his belly. It rose into something that was more like a crazed, feverish cackle that brought a tear of joy to his eye. Belloth could only eyeball him as if he'd completely lost his mind.

"Hux. I'm sure I don't need to remind you. I can think of at least five people I know - just off the top of my head, more if I set to thinking on it properly - who are still mourning children Snoke murdered. If you recall, they were told their sacrifice was for a higher purpose, that it would not be made in vain. That it _meant_ something. It is no small deed to assuage the ire of grieving parents in order to stave off a mutiny... yet we're just letting him take this boy home like he's found a puppy wandering the streets?"

"You know the rules, Belloth. The First Order must always have a Sith."

"When did it stop? I don't understand. You're just... okay with this...?"

"Of course, Commander, don't you see?" He lifted his chin and rested his hands behind his back, bouncing lightly once on the balls of his feet. "Open your eyes, it's so simple. So perfect.

"Lord Ren has no idea, but he's just walked his own death right onto his own ship."


	10. Ch 10: The Fork in the Road

**Ch 10: The Fork in the Road**

 _Aren't you tired of death?_

Oh, how her words rang with insipid irony. In truth, Kylo Ren's mind was dizzy from inventing new and creative ways his own men would try to bring him to a swift and violent end for his failure to conquer his weaknesses and just... just get on with it. If his goal was to bring an end to the Jedi - if that's what it would take to return balance to the Force, if that truly was his grandfather's mission - then why was it so impossible for him to bring himself to do her harm? What was it about watching Snoke wrench her spine in unnatural ways that made him totally abandon his principals? The throne was his now, he had a duty. He had an oath. He had a destiny. He could do it this time. He could cut his queer attachment to her just as hard as she'd cut the connection the Force had borne between them. Just as hard as he'd cut his own father out of existence.

He could ignore how engulfed and drowned in pain he'd been since he'd watch the life drain from the man's eyes... since he'd watched the hands that once held him and inspired him reach out for him as they fell and disappeared into a smoldering, dark abyss.

He could ignore how his mind burned with the glowing red line drawn in the dirt at Rey's feet. He could forget the warm peace that had coursed through him when her hand had landed on his shoulder... when she'd taken his hand into her own from across an entire galaxy...

The fault behind his difficulty to land the fatal blow lay with Snoke to be perfectly honest. The bond between him and the girl - the root of his own shameful act of self-betrayal - had merely been a tool by design, nothing more. An artificial machination. It was useless. It was meaningless. He could let it die - he could. When next they met, he would have no choice now but to carry out his threats and destroy her - it simply was what he was made manifest to do. And the evidence against her was damning, given the pack of young padawans she'd been caught shuttling around the cosmos. When he'd stayed his hand, he'd fallen prey to the very thing that would eventually cost him his life. So he had to take hers first, didn't he? There was no question now, it was a matter of life and death... wasn't it?

He'd felt it in her though, in the forest, as sure as he'd known she'd felt the same thing within him - that _thing_. That question... the uncertainty. The conflict of interest. The blade in the ribs, severing the meat between destiny and the will of the Cosmic Force. And what did he really know of his grandfather's work? The vision he'd glimpsed once, long ago when first he'd laid his hands on the frail, charred carcass of the helmet the man once wore, was fleeting and vague at best. He'd misinterpreted visions before - most recently the one that'd told him he wouldn't be standing alone just now.

 _You're not alone._

 _Neither are you._

With Snoke having saturated every layer of his being from his pores to his core like a seeping blood stain, where did Snoke's great design end and the Skywalker Legacy begin? With Snoke a figment of the past, where was the divide between the truth and a lie? Where was the boundary that defined Kylo Ren? He'd known his place in Snoke's plan - he knew the man had foreseen some part that Luke would play in his eventual downfall. That didn't go like he thought it would... But there was a time when he'd felt so certain of his destiny. There was a time, not long ago, when he truly felt he knew what he had to do. He had goals, and a road - a direct, linear route - that would lead him there. But now...

 _What do you want?_

He'd nearly choked when the question - the very question that had hounded him so vigilantly into his current state of sleepless unrest - tumbled with ease from her mouth. He could've asked her the same thing, had wanted to even. Perhaps an actual discourse on their differences and the reasons for their disparate points of view would have made some sort of... sense. But his thoughts and his words often traveled on separate paths - very little of what he meant to say ever came out right. And he'd never really been terribly good at talking to girls, anyway.

"Auxiliary power is go," flight deck staff called from below. Ren leaned left to glance out of the cockpit of the Silencer - he barely heard the man over the roar of testing turbines. The sound was further amplified by the plexiglass canopy hanging overhead, ready to snap shut, seal, and pressurize. "Atmospheric is still red - starting weapons system check now." Per standard safety protocols, Ren made the corresponding checks on the onboard display to sync information back to their databases. He could still feel the hard edges of his safely hidden datapad jabbing at him where it was stuffed beneath his belt.

He'd originally hidden it on his personal command shuttle. While the slicer he'd chosen to... unwittingly carry out his little act of espionage was chosen because he was of a particularly high-scoring talent, he didn't want to take the chance that someone wouldn't notice the unsanctioned download, even though the network node was secure. If it had been traced, he'd preferred to implicate Hux... who used that shuttle just as often. His mouth jerked with a quick smirk as he flipped the switch that lit the HUD for his targeting metrics.

What would have happened if he hadn't had the presence of mind to remove the datapad from that shuttle? The very one stolen by the Turncoat Trooper himself, and the hoard of Rey's young trainees? To peal across the stars directly into Resistance hands? Snoke was notoriously distrustful of his own men - the man was infamous for keeping his baleful, shamanistic secrets. There were reasons why he assembled the First Order and left the Unknown Regions - there were reasons for traversing the Unknown Regions in the first place. Then there was the surface story every Officer was given on their induction and entry into training. No one knew the whole truth.

Except Hux.

The only insight Ren now had into the mind of his dead master lie in the pages of his journal, which he hoped now resided on the warm little datapad that was currently sticking to his back. The very one that, through a terrific stroke of fate, did not end up skipping him completely to tell its sordid tales to his sworn enemies. He'd only removed it because the download was complete, and it had started its decryption process. It only had fifteen percent left to go. Hux already had a copy, and a head start. Ren's position was precarious at best - he had to level the playing field.

Which meant, right now, shooting down that stolen command shuttle was a vital imperative. Children or no children. Failure on this could mean an attempt on his life.

At this point he just wished someone would try their luck already, for stars' sake. The release of tension was definitely needed, the breathless rush of practiced skill and unbridled power was always welcome. He stretched his arms over his head as he watched the engineer below disengage the fuel lines. He rolled his shoulders and twisted his neck. His muscles were itching and aching for catharsis through combat, his brain thirsty for a bath of flooding endorphins.

"My lord," the slimy sneer of Hux's tone was enough to tick his ire up another notch, "a squadron from the Third Fleet, in the next hangar, is prepping to join you."

"It's just a shuttle, Hux. That won't be necessary." He knew what the good General was trying to do, and it wouldn't work. He would not let himself be caught, ambushed prey, between a set of guns and another set of even more guns, even if he was absolutely confident he could out-shoot them all. Firing on his own men, even to thwart an assassination attempt, could still wind up labeling him a traitor. "Send them to focus cover fire planet-side - we need to get our men out of that mine."

"My... my lord, are you quite... is that the proper..." Hah, listen to him stammer. "B-but the Resistance could- "

"We're still tracking their transponder, aren't we? That's still our ship. Have they made any hails?"

"The only activity we've seen so far, my lord, is a wide sensor sweep, but... but no activity on the communications array, no."

A sensor sweep...? That's a strange action to take for someone trying to make a clean getaway with a cargo of innocent children. What were they looking for? Was it something they left behind? Or maybe... _someone_? Kriff. Nothing was ever easy, was it? Before he could ruminate on it any longer, the flight deck staff called out again.

"Atmospheric is green, weapons are go. Final check with dock authority - you have the green light in five, your Excellency."

And with that, Hux gave a slight nod as he took his leave. A path was cleared for take off, and the canopy hissed and clicked into place, making his Ren's pop. The count down in his HUD ended. He taxied on impulse to the lip of the hangar, then punched the throttle and tore out into open space. He would do his duty and dispatch the errant shuttle.

Then he'd have no choice. He would circle back... and he'd find the girl.

On the walkway above the hangar Hux paused - hands at his back, shoulders straight. Everything about his personage was square: even and uniform, crisp, neat lines, and sharp, symmetrical angles. Watching the fleet stream out into the stars, he drew a deep breath and savored the sensation of imminent victory. It bubbled in his belly and buzzed between his ears. The plan had formed itself organically, like crystallized sugar on a stick. It required very little effort on his part surprisingly, almost as if it had been ordained by the heavens. There really was only one piece missing, and now he stood an even greater chance of finding that as well. He bounced once, ready to put his wheels into motion. He only had a limited stretch of time before the objectives on Churruma were met and the fleet was back on board.

 _All_ of it.

He marched with haste to the command deck where took his rightful place - at the head of his subordinate officers, pacing between them while overseeing operations. Strong leadership skills were highly prevalent in the long line of generations that spanned the Hux name, and he was certainly no exception. He was born with a genetic predisposition toward ruthlessness and cunning, willing to take risks and seize opportunities when they arose. He followed his rounds to Commander Belloth where he stopped and made his opening move.

"Perhaps this world could benefit from one of our new surveillance stations," he told his Minister of Planetary Defense.

"This is a neutral world, I'm sure that would violate a whole mess of- "

"Come off it, man - this is conquest, not a board game. This is war. They can yell at me about rules and treaties when they have enough fire power to do so."

"A careful reminder, General," Belloth gave him a side-eyed glance, "it was their fire power that put us scrambling for better position."

"This is one skirmish, Belloth. I will concede we underestimated them. But they will kneel in time. Now, tell me," he deflected, changing the subject to the matter he found more pressing, "about the station you put in orbit over Korriban. Did you find any... signatures?"

"I was hoping we could talk about this in- "

"The time is now."

"Then... yes, sir. We did pick up an unexplained power signature, and not one we've seen recorded in our archives."

"Very well." Hux could hardly contain himself. It took every ounce of his rigid discipline to maintain his careful composure. "Did you manage to get a recording of its signal?"

"Of course, sir - I wouldn't dream of bringing you news like this if I didn't have something to show for it."

"Good good. Prepare the conference room on the starboard wing, deck nine. I want you to bring your sample and your scans of the planet. Go now. The iron is hot."

For too long the Order had relied on credits to purchase equipment that was purposefully faulty. For too long their technologists had performed their most admirable work using designs provided by vendors that were mistakenly trusted... and were ultimately proven to be flawed from the onset. For far too long too many lives had been lost and too many plans had been thwarted - destinies delayed - for a system that was built to benefit only one very large, very all-encompassing, very shadowy entity.

No more.

 _Belloth should be pleased_ , he thought to himself. _The time for action has finally arrived._

He left parting orders for his subordinates, then immediately turned and exited the bridge of the ship. His feet were pumping with such purpose that his stiff collar began to dampen with sweat. He saluted his fellow officers in the hallways as he strode, but never stopped to make conversation. His fingers impatiently tapped his leg while he waited for the elevator to deliver him to the proper deck. He did his best to minimize each precious minute that was lost to transit, but soon enough he reached his destination - the chambers adjacent to those belonging to their Supreme Leader.

The newly furnished domicile had once been a dressing room and closet, but whereas Snoke had delighted in such lavish things as entire parcels of space that were devoted solely to frivolous means, Ren could not possibly have cared any less to relinquish it. The room itself was under heavy surveillance and was also most certainly under lock and key. Which naturally meant Hux knew the code for the door. Sitting inside on a plush purple bed was the young boy named Ali. He was curled with his knees touching his chin, perched at the far edge of Hux's shadow cast by the stark, obtrusive lighting in the hallway. The whites of his eyes glistened in the low light. He was scared, and powerful. And therefore unpredictable. Hux had seen first hand what the child was capable of. He vowed not to, twice on the day, make the mistake of underestimating someone. Paternal guilelessness was not a strong trait in Hux's wheelhouse, but he gave it his best shot. He had to win the boy over - if he couldn't, this opportunity would be lost.

"It's alright, child, don't be frightened," he began, choosing to remain beyond the threshold, once again characteristically clasping his hands behind his back. "I'm only here to see how you're settling in. Do you have everything you need? Are you... chilly?"

"I'm fine," the boy lied before pressing his lips into his knees.

"Hmm," Hux responded, "if you insist. I'm consistently told that the climate aboard this ship is too arid or too cool. It's a new ship, and we're... striving to achieve our new normal, I suppose. It's a constant struggle, temperature..." Running out of small talk, he trailed off. "Do you mind if I come in?"

The boy only wrinkled his squashed up nose as he shook his head. Given permission, Hux entered and allowed the light from the hallway to further illuminate the room, now that his body was no longer acting as a barrier. The darkness inside was calm and soothing, broken only by a pair of cheery orange salt lamps, and one tall red taper - the same kind Ren sometimes used during meditation. Hux flung a curt gesture at the guards stationed at the door, shooing them away and ordering privacy.

"Do you know who I am, boy?" he asked as he took a tentative seat at the foot of the bed.

"The General," the boy said.

"Yes, yes, but... hmm," he tucked his hands between his knees as he considered his words. "Let me ask you this. What do you think of your new Master? What do you believe you have in common with him?"

The boy lifted his eyes slightly, assuming there was likely a correct answer to the question, and an incorrect answer... and he knew which was which.

"The... the Force?" he answered bravely.

"Yes. Very much yes," Hux nodded gravely before clapping his hands together once. "Very good - very good answer. But can you think of anything else?"

The boy furrowed his brow and cast his searching gaze down to the floor, as if he would find the knowledge he sought in the cracks between the shiny black tiles.

"It's alright, it's alright," Hux reassured him with a pat on the shoulder, "it's okay if you can't think of anything. You haven't known him as long as I have, so I'll answer for you. There _isn't_ anything else. Would it shock you to know you share more in common with me than with him?"

The boy, curious, met his eye but had nothing to say. His expression was question enough.

"That jacket," Hux continued, pointing at the article of clothing the boy had been wearing when he arrived. It currently sat folded in the seat of a chair across the dimly lit room. "Did that belong to someone? Your father, maybe? Grandfather? Uncle?"

"Father," Ali mumbled softly, his face shrinking back down to his knees.

"He's dead, isn't he," Hux guessed. The boy's hair fell over his eyes as he nodded. "Yes, I suspected as much. So is mine. War does a funny thing to fathers and sons..." Hux huffed a rare laugh and paused for the appearance of shared grief. He picked at the fingernails of his left hand while he allowed the moment of silence to comfort the boy. "I was taken from my mother, too," he went on eventually. "I was young, like you. Younger than you, even." He didn't need to know how much younger - if he'd mentioned he was stolen as an infant, he would have given the impression he wasn't as attached to his mother. The effect wouldn't have been the same. "Everyone on this ship was a stolen child once, did you know that?"

That caught the boy's attention. He looked up and shook his head slowly no.

"It's true. We've all ascended into the greatness that is the Order, but there's a part inside of each of us that still grieves for the family we lost. But... do you know who _didn't_ lose his family? Do you know who _wasn't_ a stolen child like us?"

Again the boy answered no.

"Kylo Ren. I know, I know, but it's true. He came to us freely. He was never taken. He spent his youth with his mother and his father like any normal child. His mother was even a princess once, did you know that? Oh yes. He had a wealthy, influential family, and parents who loved him. And then he left them, left all of it - his training under the infamous Luke Skywalker, all of it. Do you know where all of those people are now? All of those people who loved him?"

This time the boy was almost afraid to say no.

"He murdered them. All of them. You see, in order to devote yourself fully to the Force - in order to fully receive the honor and the glory of its dark power, in order to earn the right to bear the name Sith... you must cut all attachments. Kill them... if you have to. Do you understand what I'm telling you?"

They boys eyes widened in slowly dawning terror.

"I'm telling you that, should he decide to truly accept you as his apprentice... he will ask you to kill your mother."

Finn had one eye out the view screen watching the landscape streak beneath them, and one eye on the targeting HUD to watch for chasing fighters. His hands had a vicious vice grip on the flight controls. Between breaths he wiped his face against his shoulder to prevent sweat from salting and stinging his eyes.

"We're not in space yet," Omar complained loudly from his seat at the port gun. "Why are we not in space yet?" After securing the children in the remaining seats, Lena took her own at the starboard gun.

"We're getting there," Finn replied tersely.

"You know it's up, right? We have to go up?"

There was the ping again - she was right there, the display said she was right there... where was she?

"You know, I could drive if you want me t- "

"There!"

Just there, on the road that bisected the thick green forest of dense trees and plump ferns - just below was a figure walking that was decidedly taller and less strangely colored than what could be classified as one of the natives. The onboard sensors told Finn that the figure was wearing Rey's beacon. It had to be her. He circled around as he descended and she stopped dead in her tracks. She turned to face them, startled to be approached so closely by the large black shape of a First Order command shuttle, looming above her like a hungry bird of prey. Her stance was defensive but she still raised a hand to her eyes to shield them from the wind and the dust of their exhaust.

"Take the controls," Finn ordered Omar as he brought the craft into a tightly controlled hover, and pounded one fist down onto the button that activated the lift gate. He raced the three steps it took to drop outside, anxious to announce himself before she got nervous enough to make an offensive maneuver.

"Rey!" he shouted at her. She squinted and seemed to recognize him, albeit a little too slowly. It was then, when he could see her more clearly, that he noticed the trickle of blood on the right side of her forehead. He rushed to her and took her hand, pleased she didn't protest this time the way she had once on Jakku. Her eyes were glassy and unfocused - it was hard to tell if she was merely dazed from a head injury or if it was... something else. Wrapping his other arm around her shoulders, he ushered her onto the shuttle.

"You stole a different ship," she muttered, seeming to begin finding a way out of her fog.

"This one has hyperdrive," he replied matter-of-factly as the ramp closed behind them.

"Oh yes, that's definitely helpful!"

"And it's definitely getting used, hold onto your knickers!" Omar called as he barreled down on the throttle and pointed them toward the sky. Finn fell backwards from the force of the inertia, wincing and grabbing his thigh out of reflex.

"You're hurt," Rey muttered, pinching her eyebrows with worry.

"So are you," Finn replied, nonplussed, as he claimed a seat beside her. "But this is just a scratch. Little bacta and a bandage and I'll be perfect as passion fruit pie. What's that about...?" His voice grew soft as he pointed at the swelling and purpling bruise that was spreading across her forehead. "Did you... did you see him...?"

She let her head hang, and her face was tough to read. He saw none of the horror that he'd prepared himself to see. He didn't see any anger either, or any lingering disgust. Instead she almost looked... sad. And perhaps a little disappointed. And tired - the same way Ren had looked when he'd seen him. Spent and tired.

"Yes," she finally confirmed, nodding thoughtfully as if she was still replaying the scene in her mind.

"Did he do that to you?" Perhaps it came out a bit too forcefully.

"It's not what you think," she spoke evenly, her eyes still distant and pensive. "I pushed first, I thought he'd go after the children. He pushed back. A bit harder than he meant to. Heh," she breathed a small laugh, "he even said he was sorry." She quirked a glance up at him. "Is it weird that that's weird?"

"Yeah," he smiled, "no... that's definitely weird. But he is kiiind of a weird guy."

"He definitely is."

"So you fought him then?"

"No." She shook her head, screwing up her eyebrows again. "I mean, well... I do think that was his intention originally, yes. But... but that's not what ended up happening."

"At some point you felt like shoving him, though."

"Finn, he's Kylo Ren. He makes everyone feel like shoving him."

"Heh, fair."

"Right? But no... to answer your question, he did try. Twice. Finn," she turned to him in disbelief, "he couldn't do it. He tried twice and he couldn't do it."

"Okay, soooo... what _did_ happen?"

"We just... talked."

"Talked."

"Yeah..."

"Wow. Just... really? That's, uh... heh. That's the healthiest and most adult thing I've ever heard of him doing. Not to mention the most anti-climatic..."

"To be honest," she admitted, "I think it would've been a whole lot easier if he had just wanted to fight."

"What makes you say that?"

She chewed her lip for a moment, trying to organize her thoughts. In her slightly disoriented state, he imagined it was a little like trying to catch butterflies in a net.

"He's at a crossroads, Finn," she said after a moment. "You can hear it when he talks... see it on his face. When we'd left Crait, he'd just faced his greatest fear, he'd just faced Luke. He was still angry - we all saw how angry he was - but in that moment, as I was closing the hatch on the Falcon, I saw him. And he was... on the other side of it."

"Of... of the hatch...?"

"No, no," she laughed, smacking his shoulder, "his _anger_! Pay attention! Before that happened, he'd been on a road - a very particular road toward a very particular destination. A goal. It was about finding acceptance. The kind he'd never really found in his family. I understand that now - I know what he's feeling. From his perspective, they were... afraid of him, all of them. To the point they either wanted to ignore the problem completely or just... give up on it. And the only person who had given him any sense of worth was Snoke. But this is Snoke we're talking about. To find any acceptance with him, Ben had to give himself completely over to the dark side of the Force. That's why he's done everything he's done, Finn. His father, everything. The dark side requires he cut all of his attachments. Which..." she dropped her hands into her lap and stared at them, "now also includes me. But... but he couldn't do it. He failed to harm me just as he failed to harm his mother - just as he's failed to ever fully surrender to the dark side like Snoke had asked him to. And he finally saw the truth behind what Snoke really wanted from him - he saw that his father was right, and that he was only being manipulated as a means to an end. And everything he'd gone through was just... He killed Snoke for the same reason he wanted to kill Luke. Because he withheld his acceptance.

"In a small way... he's like me, Finn. That's what this... connection - this bond - is all about. He's just lost and... and overwhelmed. And alone. He's trying to find his own way. He's trying to make choices. Which is why Luke was the fork in the road. He got to say what he wanted to say and he got to swing his blade, and now it's over. And now he has to decide which way to take from there.

"Which is what makes it so hard. When I was talking to him... I was never really sure of who I was talking _to_. And I feel like, if he'd actually decided to fight me, at least he would have made a choice and we'd know who we're dealing with."

"I'd prefer that NOT be the choice he makes, thank you very much," Omar grumbled over his shoulder at them. "Not while he still has Ali."

"Ali...?!" Rey gasped as she craned her head around. "What do you mean, where is - where is Ali?"

"There," Omar said morosely as he jabbed a finger at the view screen. They had just crested planetary orbit and there, a faint black line in the distance glowing with ambient starlight, was the menacing shape of the Vindicator.

But that wasn't all.

"What's...that," Lena whispered to her father.

It started as a glimmer, a tiny flash of movement against a pinpricked panorama of black. But the way it suddenly got bigger told them the object was zooming toward them at an alarming, breakneck speed. And then Finn could truly see it - the sharp, angular form of a ship he'd recognize anywhere.

"Oh no..." he exclaimed as he limped to his feet. "It's the Silencer, Rey! He's coming!"

"Well, he's gonna eat a load of my stardust, then," Omar jeered as he coiled up the hyperdrive engines, "because we're hitting the 'lanes, my friends!"

"No, no - it'll never work!" Finn shouted, clambering his way into the seat at the port gun. "Swing it around - I'll take the shot!"

"Are you INSANE?! You can't fire on that guy! Have you _seen_ the arsenal of overcompensation he's got aiming at us?"

"It's the only way!"

"What are you talking about?!"

"This is a First Order ship!" Finn reminded him. "There's a tracer on it - every Order ship has one, even Ren's. It helps them..." his voice trailed off with the admission, "it helps them track deserters."

"So... so we're just sitting ducks then, that's what you're telling me? These kids! These kids are sitting ducks!"

Finn hazarded a look back at the precious cargo filling the seats in the cabin. He made himself look at the mortal terror in their eyes. He made himself watch their tears. He made himself remember the ones he shed every night as a boy as he iced the fresh bruises he'd received in rough training, trying to remember the arms of a mother he never had.

And then he saw Rey. She was no longer in her seat, but sitting cross-legged on the floor of the cabin. Her hands were resting open on her knees, and her head was bowed low, eyes closed.

"Don't do it, Rey," he begged her, but it was too late and he knew it was likely their only chance. He slowly turned back to the view screen to stare directly into the face of the warship itself, its wings spearing outward like pointed black fangs. Oddly, it hung motionless in the sky. Lena had covered her face with her hands while her father clasped her shoulder tightly. Finn could only hold his breath.

Behind them, Rey softly spoke.

"Ben?"

"Ben," he heard his name on her voice again, calling through the sudden weirdly-more-silent-than-silence. "Answer me, Ben, I know you can hear me."

The open bond that once was closed sucked at him like a vacuum. Like a gaping hull breach. His hand was shaking on the flight controls, his thumb trembling on the button that would decide their fate... and his. He was flushed so hot he couldn't breath, but sweat like icicles melted down his back. He was nauseous and his hands felt sticky inside his gloves so he ripped them off. He ripped them off and he threw them hard against his control panel where they landed with loud leather smacks.

"NO!" he screamed at himself. "NOOOO NO!"

He slammed a bare fist into the canopy over his head so hard he heard something pop and crack, and he left a smear of blood behind on the plexiglass.

The pain was a comfort. The pain was something he could endure. The pain was something he could conquer, something he could overcome. It was a goal he could achieve. It brought him peace. He tugged and raked his fingers through his hair in bewilderment and frustration.

"Ben, the boy you have - his name is Ali," he heard her again, and this time he looked up. "Ben, you have to make a choice."

She stepped toward him, approaching the view screen of their shuttle, and the man who had escaped with the Traitor shuffled out of her way, not entirely comprehending what was taking place. It was too late for Ren to ignore her, he'd already made eye contact.

"Ben," she placed her fingers on the view screen and magically everything else fell away and she was right in front of him - right outside, out there floating so near her fingerprints made pinpoints of condensation on the canopy of his own ship. Right in front of his face. "There are things I don't know about you. I know it. There are things I... there are things that no one understands. But I do know for certain you would never raise your weapon to a child.

"Please, Ben - Ali has a mother. A mother who loves him and misses him very much." There were tears in her eyes and her voice was strained. "She only gave him up because she knew she couldn't keep him safe. If she'd kept him for herself then he'd be dead... or worse, and you know that. A mother will do anything to keep her baby safe, Ben, please - she would give anything to have him back."

He couldn't say anything. The knot growing in his throat was tight as a noose. He could only stiffly swallow as she continued.

"He doesn't understand what's happening and why, and he's scared. He's scared and angry and sad and he thinks he's completely alone. He just wants someone to find him. And he just wants to go home."

And for a split second he was transported back in time - to a shivering, weeping wisp of a dark, miserable young boy, slumped alone on a tiny, unfamiliar wooden bed in a tiny, unfamiliar wooden room next to an unpacked satchel of painful memories. He couldn't breathe. He squeezed the fingers of the hand he'd used to punch the canopy until a trickle of blood pooled between them.

"I know we can't get him back, Ben. But please just... just don't hurt him. Or these little ones. There are children on this ship, Ben. Please. They just want to go home. Please."

Innocent children she'd train. An innocent army she'd use to fight him someday, murder him maybe. An entire army of Jedi that meant him nothing but harm - that only held him in contempt and revulsion. Jedi who would never understand him, who would never forgive him his bloodline. Jedi who thought he was better off dead.

But her eyes as she peered at him through the glass... her soft, sweet eyes. He could still see them in his mind, even when they weren't there. Just now they shone with something more than fear or sadness. It was a naked sort of barefaced plea. It wasn't just for the children - there was something else as well. He could feel it in her as much as he knew she could feel it in him, like a shining silver thread that bound them. It was something... something shifting and nameless. Something not entirely designed by Fate or the Universe or the Force or whatever. Something he was afraid to define, because then it would be real.

And it was dangerous. It asked a dangerous question.

 _What do you want._

A choice. Any other choice. He was desperate for clarity, his insides raging - his mind tumbling and rolling, searching for other options and finding none. But then the Force deigned to send him exactly what he asked for... in the worst way possible. Rey jerked her head around - something had caught her attention. Startled, he perked up in his seat and twisted around, trying to follow her line of sight.

Pouring out of the Vindicator were the fighters of the Third Squadron, the ones Hux had been ordered to send down to the planet below. They were clearly not following those orders. And if they were approaching to assist him, they would have made contact on the proper channel. The fact that his transponder had remained chillingly quiet told him something ugly and terrifying. Those fighters had orders on someone else's authority... and they meant him no good. In spite of all that was at stake, he couldn't help the sigh of relief that slid through his parted lips.

The choice was made. And he'd have his fight. There could be no evidence. Cornered and resolute, he finally spoke to her.

"You have to open fire, Rey."

She nodded once and faded out of his periphery, and he turned to stare at the obnoxious, blinking red light on his console - the one that impeded itself upon his fuel gauge and the holo that gave him his Z-axis. He considered it for as long as he could, chewing his lip and gripping his sweating palms against the legs of his pants.

"The choice is made," he repeated to himself, "there can be no evidence." It was out of his hands. He flipped the switch next to the light and turned off his in-flight recorder, breaking about one hundred and twenty-four different regulations that were his job to maintain and diligently defend. As the first round of blasts sailed past his nose, he yanked the stick and the ship yawed away in a wide arc before tucking into a defensive barrel roll.

It was time to begin.

"HAIL THEM!" Omar screamed in panic as Rey took the seat at the controls and kicked out the throttle, rocketing them away and making themselves more of a moving target. "Tell them there are children!"

"They already know," Finn replied through grit teeth as he flailed the gunnery stick around, fervently concentrating on trying to line up well placed shots. "They have their orders - you don't know what happens to officers that disobey orders. You could have the Queen of Naboo on board and they wouldn't care."

"We should be in a hyperlane right now," Omar grumbled as he shooed his daughter away from the starboard gun, preferring to make himself useful rather than sit helpless.

Rey did her best to shut them out and ignore the throbbing haze of pain that still radiated from the point where her skull had made contact with a large, grey boulder. She tried, instead, to reach deep and down into that place in her mind where she and Ben still remained bound together - the place where she kept him as a resource, the place where she categorized his power and his knowledge and his training.

And this time, his skill as a pilot. The son of the fabled Han Solo.

Dodging streams of gunfire, she glanced at him when she could, watching in awe as he skirted gracefully away in angles that would have stalled an engine in atmo. He led two of the fighers off, spiralling through space in a dexterous and tightly maintained corkscrew before he dumped his starboard booster and flipped around to face his attacker. That's when it dawned on her...

"They're- " she muttered, trying not to give up her focus and get them all killed, "they're firing on him! Why would they do that?"

"Can't look!" Finn told her. "Too busy!"

Ben had expertly dispatched one fighter, while the other did its best to pull away. In a maneuver she would never have thought of on her own, Ben cut his engines entirely, allowing the minimal gravitational pull of the planet to sink him naturally free of the debris field he'd just created. The remaining fighter lost one of his engines to a chunk, not able to pull free in time. The Silencer, however, remained unscathed. Once clear, he kicked the throttle and resumed the chase, tearing off into the black and out of her line of sight.

She had her own fighter to worry about, and it was gaining ground with every second. It was a faster and more agile machine, but she was more cunning and Ben had just given her an idea.

"Is everyone secured? Get strapped in! I'm gonna try something!"

"Wha-" Omar gasped, "what does THAT mean?"

"Hold on!"

"When did we STOP holding on?!"

She gunned the throttle and jabbed the flight controls forward, and then she cut her engines. The shuttle tucked over into a lazy sort of somersault, aided by gravity.

"KRIFFING STARS!" Omar yelled while Finn only grunted. "YOU PEOPLE ARE CRAZY!" Children squealed behind her and someone even laughed. She thought it might have been Lena. She didn't turn to look.

Before they rolled over, Rey smiled as she watched the fighter streak past overhead. Just when she thought her craft wouldn't be able to right itself on its own leftover inertia, she punched the throttle and brought it back around, now behind their target.

"TAKE THAT!" Finn cheered and let loose his volley. Rey tugged them port just in time to avoid the flaming cloud of shrapnel.

"Hee heeee!" giggled the youngest girl to her brother. "He shot him in the butt!"

It was too soon to celebrate, though. A sudden blast rocked the ship, toppling them wildly, forcing Rey to grapple with the controls momentarily and fight keep hold of the ship.

"What was..." Finn breathed as they looked up and saw searing orange sparks scorching a wound across the end of their starboard wing. The wobbling, severed end of it broke loose and floated off into the stars.

"It's not serious," Rey replied, wiping the sweat from her face and rolling the tension out of her shoulders. It was true, it wasn't an immediate threat... but it could present an issue when they decided to land. "Where's the third one? I don't see- "

She nearly jumped out of her seat when the under belly of the Silencer plunged down on top of them out of nowhere, cutting across their view screen and missing them by only meters. Chasing after him like a rabid wild animal was their last fighter. The pilot made the mistake of following a vector before recognizing where it would take him. In this case, it placed him squarely between the firing ranges of his two adversaries. Rey couldn't imagine he didn't see the shots coming, there was no way he didn't. Perhaps he'd just given up, and preferred a quick death to the alternative: facing a failure punishable by the might of the First Order. It was a harsh reality, and she found she didn't blame him.

When all was still and quiet, and her pulse was no longer hammering between her ears - when all that was left was a chorus of exhilarated breath, Rey looked out across the stars as the Silencer languidly floated into their view. Inside, indicator lights casting bleak shadows across his features, was Ben. He was perched forward, leaning with his arms crossed over the shaft of his flight controls. His dark, black eyes seemed darker still - hollow, like a dead man walking to the gallows. He worked his jaw for a moment with his hair in his face, his neck and shoulders corded and tight. He finally flicked his face up to meet hers and one ungloved hand reached out to press a switch. Instantly a signal chimed in the cabin of the command shuttle, announcing the incoming hail on the Silencer's ship-to-ship, short wave frequency. Tentatively, Rey reached over, opened the line, and waited.

For several long moments, she waited. He passed a hand through his hair and over his face, and she waited. He pursed his lips... and she waited. He sat breathing as he watched the stars, enjoying what brief calm he could, a soul damned to misery and treachery. And she waited. At last he spoke.

"Your ship has a tracer," she heard him say, his voice in her ears this time, instead of in her mind.

"We know," was all she could say, and none of what she _wanted_ to say.

"I can see it from here. I can..." he closed his eyes and sighed. "I can shoot it. Shoot it off. It's small, and not near anything vital. It would only take one shot."

"Rey..." Finn began, his voice edged with warning and distrust. But he was faced with the same indecision - they couldn't leave the system with it still attached. It was an offer that was hard to refuse. And if he'd really wanted to blast them all to smithereens...

"You know I won't miss," Ben continued, sensing their unease. "But I need you to do something for me."

"What do you need?" she breathed, her eyes holding his, the edges of her own sorrow bleeding over into his, mingling like ripples on a pond.

"Do you see this?" he pointed to a small collection of antennae over his left shoulder. "This array?"

"I do," she answered.

"It's connected to a junction box. I need you to shoot it."

"Ben," she questioned him with worry. "That'll... won't that blow power to your console?"

"Yes," he answered, somber.

"What... what about your life support?"

"It has a backup."

"But... but you'll be flying blind!"

"I know."

"What if they send more fighters, Ben? Your weapons - your guidance!"

"I... I've dealt with worse."

"Ben... what if I miss?"

"You won't." He tapped his fingers lightly on the console. "I turned off my flight recorder, Rey. You know I can't go back without it reasonably damaged."

"He's right, he can't," she heard Finn whisper. She knew he was beside her, but in that moment he felt so far away. Everything felt far away - even the light of the system's sun seemed so distant, as far away as her hopes and her needs, as far away as everything... everything except...

"Come with us," she heard her own disembodied voice beg before she drew a heady breath.

"What?!" Omar reacted, sounding miles away. "Is she NUTS?!" She ignored him.

"Don't go back," she said, thin and hoarse, but with power. "Come with us."

Ben didn't say anything. He couldn't. He only stared at her, cherishing the request as his own secret desires plucked tenderly at the silver thread of their bond. The tears that welled in his eyes drew a fiery, shining line, capturing the color of the yellow star that brought life to the planet below.

"Not without Ali!" she heard Omar say, and something, somewhere, snapped. Broken. Her empathy slapped her out of her stupor - she would die before she became the kind of person who could abandon a scared young boy. Her hopes were once again in vain, and their impasse was as bittersweet as an unfulfilled fantasy.

"Rey," was Ben's ragged whisper. Not ready to hear his answer, she pressed her fingers once more to the view screen. She reached out and out, searching endlessly for any sign of his warmth - anything that wasn't the icy chill of space and heartache.

"If I go with you," he continued, firm to mask his longing, "then Hux is the Supreme Leader." He hitched a breath, then pointed behind him in the vague direction of the Vindicator. "And he has _that_. All of that."

 _But I'd have you. And you'd have me_. She just wasn't ready to say it. She wasn't even sure what she'd do if she heard him say it. So she let him have her silent tears instead. She let her head fall in acceptance. She remained mute and unflinching as his one, well-placed shot removed the tracer from their ship... and mercifully set them free.

"Are you ready?" she made herself ask as she reached for Finn's gunnery stick.

"Rey..." he called to her and she clamped a solid lid down on her heaving inhibitions.

"Yes?"

"We- " he choked and finally a tear left him, releasing its tiny river to follow the channel of the scar that marked the length of his face. "We can't see each other again."

No. There was no way she would acknowledge that. Absolutely not. That wasn't how this war was supposed to end - she knew it. She saw it, so clear and so real the very first time she touched him. She _would_ see him again - there was no way it wouldn't happen. There was no galaxy big enough to keep them apart if it was the will of the Cosmic Force that they be together. And when they did meet next, there would be no more talk. There would be no more airing of grievances, there would be no more empty threats, there would be no more salty banter, there would be no more negotiations. She would do what she had to do. She would take him by his hair, she would drag him kicking and screaming, she would freeze him in carbonite - she would make him her prisoner if that's what it took. She shoved a hot fist in her face, wiping her nose and drying her eyes. She chewed on her determination, she narrowed her sights and she took her shot, and when the sparks faded she left him drowning in that darkness he liked so much while she made her definitive plans.

There _would_ be a next time, oh yes... and next time she wasn't leaving without him.

"Now don't be frightened, boy," Hux cooed, letting one hand span the diminutive space between the child's small, bony shoulder blades. It took all the strength he could manage not to scowl with distaste at the slimy, dripping grimace the boy made as he cried. "I'm here to help you, we all are. You're like us, and we help our own. I know who your mother is," he lied, "and I will take you home to her. Just think - within days you could be back in your old bed, playing with your old friends, like none of this ever happened. Wouldn't that be nice?"

Leaving a wet, snotty trail behind on his sleeve, the child wiped his face and nodded.

"I just need you to do one thing for me," he prefaced and set his trap. "Something very easy, very simple. I just need you to show me something. Do you think you can do that?"

"Yes," the boy agreed, readily shaking his head. Hux briskly snapped his fingers, and a guard reappeared at the door. After a few mumbled instructions, the man produced a washcloth, cold and wet from a sink, that was intended to be used for cleaning up the boy's eyes and nose.

"Come, before your Master returns," Hux commanded once the child was more presentable, standing and offering his hand. "And we'll keep this our little secret, yes?"

"But... but what if he- "

"Now, don't you worry about him," Hux smiled his most wolfish, most reassuring grin, "you leave him to me." Mollified, the boy happily trailed alongside his new, trusted friend all the way to the conference room on the starboard wing, deck nine. Inside Commander Belloth was waiting, leaning casually against the black laquered table. Atop it was a brilliant holo projector, currently displaying the gently revolving image of a dusty, barren planet. The boy hesitated at the door, but ultimately his blind faith in empty promises pulled his feet inside.

"This is Commander Belloth," Hux waved a hand in introduction to his fellow officer, further pacifying any lingering doubts or fears, "and this," he pointed to the display, "is Korriban. Belloth is going to play a signal for you. It is emanating from somewhere on this planet, here. What I'd like for you to do is listen to it, then reach out through the Force and see if you can tell me where it is coming from - just... point to it on the map. Very simple, yes?"

He could tell by the way the boy's eyes widened that it was anything but a simple request for someone who was completely untrained in the ways of the Force. Ordinarily, Hux wouldn't even be certain the Force worked that way if he didn't already know that Snoke had used this very method to narrow his scope down to Korriban. He'd only died before he found the damned thing. Which also meant he died before mentioning a word about it to anyone outside of his own private logs.

There was no better opportunity. He couldn't let Ren have this. They had to try.

"It's alright," Hux told the boy, "it's okay. If you can't find it, I won't be angry, and I won't blame you. I just... I just want you to try. Can you do that for me? Can you try?"

Bolstered with permission to fail, the boy found his confidence.

"Yes," he said.

"Very good. Belloth, if you wouldn't mind."

Within moments, the crackling buzz of static filled the room. The boy took a pair of cautious steps toward the image of the planet, gazing up at it as he listened and studied its features. He licked his lips and reached a hand out toward it, his face bathed in its serene blue glow. He muttered something to himself that Hux struggled to hear. It sounded like he'd said something about searching for the spaces in between. Something about cold. The boy then shifted his feet and squared them with his shoulders, then he closed his eyes and cocked his head to one side. He only stood and just... listened. And reached out.

"... cold..." he said again.

"What's that?"

"... between..."

"Between what?" Hux grew perplexed. What if they couldn't decipher the message? What if Snoke's journal had been misinterpreted, and the signal was just a fluke? What if Korriban was a misdirection entirely?

"It's... cold... cold where it lives... the Force..."

"I don't understand - what does that mean?"

"... have to follow the cold... down..."

"Down... down where?" What if nothing ever ended up making any sense?

"The dark," the boy replied, sounding alarmed. Nervous. "Follow the dark, deep down. Find... find their eyes..."

"Whose eyes?"

The boy's own eyes flew open, and his outstretched hand became a point. Excited, eager to prove his worth and his success, he skirted the edge of the table, searching the floating, transparent globe for just the right spot.

"Deep, deep down," the boy smiled and shook one finger at his mark when he found it. "There! Follow it there!"

"Belloth, has your new station performed subsurface scans?"

"Only on your orders, General," he replied dutifully, "but that's a very simple thing once those coordinates pass into view of the satellite."

"Good good. Be sure that is done. And if you wouldn't mind, please summon the interfleet transport - I wish to be aboard the dreadnought, Aggressor, within the hour. You've done so well, child," Hux beamed as he squeezed the boy's shoulders, then took his chin in his fingertips. "Have you ever had candied plum tart? What say you to a piece?"

"But sir," Belloth beckoned, "won't Lord Ren grow suspicious of your absence upon his return?"

"Let him," Hux replied, suddenly cocksure in his good fortune. "Ren will be understandably quite busy making certain our new guest here is reasonably comfortable - now tut tut, have no fear, child, a promise is a promise," he told him as he tapped the boy's nose lightly with one fingertip. "Come then, something sweet awaits." Wrapping an arm around the boy, he escorted him into the dark, dismal corridor to make way for the mess hall. At long last he would finally enact the next stage of his winsome plan. The taste of success that tickled his tongue made him salivate far more than any anticipation of a decadent dessert. He savored its every drop.

"Besides," he called over his shoulder as Belloth extinguished the light on the holo projector, "there are plenty of reasons for me to take my leave. Just... tell him I'm meeting with Sienar-Jaemus to discuss their new line of luxury command shuttles. Do we not find ourselves in need of a replacement?"

"Indeed sir," was Belloth's dull echo. "Indeed."


	11. Ch 11: Choices

**Chapter 11: Choices**

The flight deck staff of the Vindicator ran, jumped, or rolled out of the wild path of the incoming damaged vehicle. Ren could have landed the Silencer on a dime, but that would have made no point, and would've been nowhere near as satisfying as crashing her onto her belly and allowing her to skid to a sparking, flaming stop somewhere askew in the middle of the hangar.

 _His_ damned hangar.

He didn't even wait for the cabin to depressurize - he sliced a hand over his head and ignored the way his eardrums throbbed when the plexiglass sailed backwards with the Force and spiderwebbed from the strain. He swung his legs over the side while the deck hand on duty had only made it halfway with the step ladder. He leaped and landed with a loud thud, paying no mind to the alarming crunch that stabbed him behind his kneecaps. Instead, he relished all of the eyes that froze in widening terror, following him as he stalked bloody murder across the deck. He advanced on the poor soul who wasn't quick enough to assist in his precipitous exit from the craft. The man flailed his arms behind him and stumbled backwards out of reflex, but he didn't make it far. Instead the rubber toes of his soles scraped a long, squealing path until the man's exposed throat landed in Ren's open, waiting palm. Outside of the man's panicked gulps for air, Ren could've heard a pin drop.

"BRING. ME. HUX." His demand boomed and echoed through the stunned silence.

"He's away on assignment," his victim choked, gripping Ren's wrist for support. The man squeezed his eyes shut as he blinked, and Ren could feel the apple in his neck bob as he swallowed. "P-per your orders, m'lord, sir..."

" _My_ orders?" Ren snarled. " _What_ orders?!"

"Fi... financial... m-meeting..."

"My lord," a new voice called from the entry before cutting off with a gasp. Ren slowly turned the heat of his glare to the newcomer, who was none other than the traitorous Commander Belloth. The wretched pile of rancor vomit at least had the decency to blanch at the scene before him. The staff were so petrified that actual open flames still burned on the Silencer and no one moved to extinguish them. Flickering orange crackles mocked the quivering masses for their mute apprehension.

"My... my lord," Belloth repeated, clearly appalled but doing his best to hide it. "What course would you have us plot?" Ren sneered and reluctantly released his human stress ball, smoothing his hand over the man's shoulder as he wavered slightly on his feet. A jerk of his Supreme Leader's head told him he best be on his way while the getting was good. Without hesitation he ducked low and disappeared. No one else on deck yet dared move a muscle.

Ren straightened his spine and rolled his shoulders, lifting his chin in a snide, haughty display of deadly power and birthright. In spite of his bitter opinion of the Commander, the man made a good point. Hux could wait. The objectives on Churruma had been... the objectives on Churruma had been met. It was time to steer the fleet toward more productive means. There was a whole galaxy out there fractured along artificial political lines, defiant in their incessant and unnecessary need to remain ardently divided, sovereign only to the belief that clinging to their chaos was the key to peace and prosperity. He could help them - he could save them. He would restore balance, he would end this war, he would prove his worth and he would keep Hux from tossing everything into the trash compactor in the meantime.

The Resistance was...

 _We can't see each other again._

The Resistance was not an open wound. The Resistance was not a knife in his heart. The Resistance was not a funeral for the dead mother he'd never see again. It wasn't a friend he couldn't keep. It wasn't even an enemy. It was a puff of smoke. It was a bang and a flash of light that flared so brightly only once before it was suffocated and subsumed by the surrounding encompassing darkness. The Resistance was behind him.

But which way was forward? Where to start? The time for revenge was over - now was the time for decisions. It was time to stake a claim. The Order would want him to start with a world that was strategically important, not only for its civic and economic significance but also for its ability to turn out a gross pan-galactic product. But he also preferred to begin with a world that was strong in the Force - one with a rich history and presence that could bolster him and offer him guidance as he made his first wobbling steps into Supreme Leadership, and what that really meant.

"Yes, of course," he called out to Belloth as he marched forward with something that closely resembled purpose, thankful he was at least capable of devising a semi-logical answer. "Come - plot us a course to Tython. And tell me more about your new surveillance stations."

* * *

Rey couldn't help herself. She stomped her foot and shook the fist she'd balled at her side. An inadvertent ripple of power left her, and bumped the satchel where it had been left on one of the seats in the cabin of the shuttle.

He just... he just made her so _mad_. Why were men so stupid and stubborn? They should have had both him _and_ Ali on that shuttle just now! To hell with Hux - didn't he get it? They were going to _murder_ him if he went back there! They already tried! A whole squadron of First Order pilots just lost their lives in the attempt! What was it that had him so, so... so dug in?! What was it about the First Order that made him say to himself, "Why yes, I think I'll plant some roots here!"

Didn't he realize she was trying to save his life?

What did he want?!

One half of her broken light saber had wriggled itself free from the satchel with her glancing blow, and the cracked kyber crystal inside had dropped to the floor of the cabin with a small clink. Slowly it rolled until it ended its journey at the side of Finn's boot. Perhaps a bit afraid of the reddening, tear-stained rage on her face and not terribly certain on how to approach her, he quietly bent and retrieved the object before wordlessly handing it over.

It couldn't have been for their power or their arsenal - that was clearly a gun that was targeting Ben just as fiercely as it was the rest of the galaxy. He couldn't have had any devotion to their plan - that plan got destroyed the minute he used this very light saber to spill his old Master's entrails all over his own throne. Did he have some other plan in mind for them? Did he really think he could just bend them all around it like modeling clay if they obviously didn't want to be bent? He had a monstrous, terrifying gift, for certain - one that set him apart from everyone on that ship outside of Ali - but what did that matter when he was so critically and abysmally outnumbered? Did he see himself as some sort of sacrificial lamb? To what end? Or was it something as ridiculous as testosterone and pride? She could just strangle him if she thought she could choke any sense into his thick skull.

The lines between them were just so, so blurry. Why were they enemies?

By the time the backs of Rey's tight fists had dried her eyes and wiped her nose, the bright white streaks of passing stars collapsed into twinkling points. They had exited hyperspace. A tense, vibrant silence permeated the cabin that no one had the courage to break until Omar cleared his throat and peeled his clamped fingers away from the flight controls. He sniffed and released a breath he'd been holding, then pinched the bridge of his nose before rubbing the corners of his eyes.

"Okay, so..." he began as Rey finally allowed herself to take a seat behind him. He clapped his hands together and rubbed them vigorously. "Who wants to explain what the kriff we just witnessed?"

"Leave her alone, man," Finn said, "this isn't the time."

"Oh? When _is_ the time? Before or after her boyfriend and his cavalry threatens to blow us out of the sky?"

"Now, hold on just a minute- "

"Before or after the _flagship of the entire First Order_ follows us to yet another planet?! I should have known it! It's my own damned fault - I should have seen this coming!"

"You know, you're really not helping- "

"I mean, sure, I've known _this whole time_ that this was a dangerous gig, yeah, but really - WHAT WERE THE ODDS that Kylo Ren's _girlfriend_ would fall into one of my crates, for stars' sake?!"

"Now you stop right there!" Finn screamed and shoved the man by his collar into the bulkhead behind the starboard gunnery stick. Rey had never seen Finn this angry - his lips pulled back to bare his teeth, his nostrils flaring, the whites of his eyes flashing with rare fury. He suddenly seemed uncharacteristically frightening - a savage reminder of a past that still remained somewhat mired in mystery. The older Twi'lek girl curled her arms around the two younger children as the scuttled up to her in fear. Lena already had her pistol pointing - she was so fast, Rey never saw her draw it from her holster, never even heard it slide against the leather.

"No, no! She said it herself! He's in love with her! Were you gonna wait til _before or after_ one of these kids got killed before you mentioned your weird psychic link with the SUPREME LEADER!" Omar thundered as he struggled against the ex-Stormtrooper, finding that his years as a neurosurgeon didn't exactly prepare him to face someone with Finn's level of combat training.

"Daddy?" Lena called, trying to assess her next move.

"STARS - Lena! No!" Omar cried to his daughter at the sight of her ready and aiming firearm. One of his hands released its grip on Finn's shirt to shake a pointing finger vaguely in her direction. "Lena, what did I tell you about guns on spaceships?"

"But, daddy- "

"What did I tell you about guns on spaceships, Lena!"

Lena never got the chance to answer her father - she gasped instead as she watched her weapon leave her fingers and fly on its own across the cabin until it reached Rey's reaching hand. Rey never even looked up - her eyes never left the cracked kyber crystal that glistened and shone between her fingertips.

"You're absolutely right," Rey confessed, her voice airy and anguished. "I've put you all in danger. We should've gotten off on Ord Mantell. We should have found Chewbacca and R2."

"We were fine til you - let me go!" Omar gave Finn one good shove to push himself free. Finn reluctantly complied. "We were fine until you told the psychotic madman to come with us! Literally invited a half-crazed child killer to just _walk right onto this ship_ full of Force-sensitive kids!"

"Kylo Ren will never harm these children."

"There is no possible way you could ever know that!"

"How could you not?!" she said firmly. "He let us go! You were there, you saw him! We had each other lined up in our sights - we took actual shots at each other, _actual real gunfire_! To set each other free! Wasn't that an incredible act of trust? Ben isn't Snoke. He hated Snoke, and he killed Snoke _because_ he hated him. And Ben Solo wants nothing more than to be better than the people he hates. Ben Solo was nearly put to death himself when he was younger, for no reason other than simply being... what he is."

"What he is?!" Omar tossed a hand in the air and let it slap against his thigh. He laughed, but there was nothing good-natured about it. "What he _is_ is a fascist and a Sith! What he is... heh heh heh... HAH! What is he, then? You clearly have some opinions on this guy! You think you know him so much better, tell me - what is this guy to you?"

"That's none of your business," Finn growled in defense of his friend. "You don't have to answer him, Rey."

"It's alright, Finn." She gave Lena back her gun, then cupped her free hand around the broken saber, gently allowing the crystal to fall back inside where it belonged. "He's a shipwreck."

"Kriff, that's the sanest thing I've heard you say."

"We're both shipwrecks, floating in space, nothing but broken pieces like this," she wiggled the piece of the saber she held in her hand. "And we're all... mingled up in each other, whether we want it or not. The Force can be cruel like that." She laughed then too, but it was the same kind of mirthless laugh that mimicked Omar's. "But the truth is, we're still the ones that shot each other down."

"That's funny - weren't you just saying a second ago that you set each other freeeee?" He waggled his arms in the air and rolled his eyes.

"I know it doesn't... it's just, it's complicated, alright? This whole _galaxy_ is complicated, I'm you might have noticed! And it doesn't... it doesn't matter what we are, not anymore. He's made his choice. And we have ours. You're right, okay? You're absolutely right. You want these children safe and you're right. Then that's what we need to do. We're going to get them safe, and after that Finn and I have a mission to complete." She looked to her friend and lifted the corner of her mouth in the beginnings of a flat, melancholy sort of smile. "There's a pretty girl waiting for him on Arturo 24, after all." The smile Finn returned was warm but sad and a little wizened.

"Sounds great, but who the kriff is that?" Lena muttered, pointing at the view screen.

"Language, girl- " but the admonishment died in Omar's throat.

Out of nowhere, the gargantuan mouth of a cargo hangar bay appeared outside, attached to an even larger ship. It had slid silently and unnoticed across their view screen while they were busy arguing, and it was currently threatening to devour them whole. While it was no dreadnought, it did appear to be one of the largest freighters Rey had ever seen. Which, admittedly, wasn't a whole lot of freighters. Crashed warships, maybe, but not freighters.

"What are they..." Rey stammered, confused, "are they trying to- "

"They're not First Order," Finn confirmed, and Omar leaped for the flight controls. Immediately he pounded the button that activated the distress signal and yanked the stick to swerve away while they still could, before they were gobbled wholly against their will into the belly of the beast like a tasty metal morsel.

"We sure look like First Order, though!" he cried, drawing attention to the one tiny, crucial detail of their predicament that Rey had forgotten. Yes, it was true... they were now masquerading as their enemy which posed a whole new host of problems.

"Hail them!" she ordered. "They have to know we're not who they think we are!"

"It won't matter," Omar replied. "They're probably pirates for stars' sake, or slave traders or something, ship that big... And AWESOME!" He threw his hands in the air. "We're sending a distress signal on _First Order channels_ \- KRIFF! Of course we are!" He laughed again, but this time his tone was fringed with mania. "The only help we're gonna get is from the First friggin' Order! _WHO'S IDEA WAS IT TO STEAL A FIRST ORDER SHIP_?!"

"You agreed to it!" Finn exclaimed.

"No - _SHE_ agreed to it! I thought it was CRAZY!"

"You're still alive!"

"By the Grace of the Holy Maker I have NO IDEA how!"

Shock like electricity shot down Rey's spine when sudden static filled the cabin and put an end to the yelling match. When it cleared, however, a very familiar rumbling, growling roar rang like silver bells in her ears. She nearly burst into tears when she heard it.

"Chewbacca! He followed the beacon!"

"Chewie!" Finn cried, yanking Rey up by her shirt until she landed snugly in his arms. "I have never in my life been so happy to hear your voice! And I don't even understand a word you're saying! What's he saying?!"

"He says," Rey muffled her sobs of joy against her friend's chest, "he says to board immediately, Maz wants to talk to us. She's upset we didn't call her when we were leaving Bespin."

"Maz! Why didn't we call Maz!" Finn laughed as he looked down at her. "We're such idiots!"

"It's fine! She'll forgive us!" Rey laughed, bouncing on her feet. "It's all going to be okay now!"

Somewhere off behind her Omar collapsed into a seat and let out a long, deep sigh. He scrubbed at his face and hair before he said, "Maz... as in, nooo... that would be too weird. That... that wouldn't be Maz Kanata, would it?"

* * *

Kylo Ren had already stood for far too long in the 'fresher unit, watching the water drip from his hair and splatter his toes. He watched it spiral and circle around the drain the way a galaxy would revolve around its axis, and no matter what move he made the interruption would always right itself and the water would start to swirl again in just the manner it always had - the manner in which it was predestined. What if he was this ineffectual? What if nothing he ever did carried any meaning? What if he was just... wrong? What if he was going crazy, musing like this over nothing more than water?

Rather than contemplate, he resorted to punishing himself instead. The release it gave him probably wasn't healthy, but it kept him from drowning in his own thoughts. He vacillated between water so hot it left his skin numb and red, and water so cold it made his teeth chatter. He still was angry, mostly at himself. He put himself here, he allowed this betrayal. He was completely isolated from any other living soul - he had no help, he had no allies and he was afraid for his life. And there was absolutely no way he was going to let _that_ question enter his mind.

 _What do you_ \- NO. Not now.

He wanted an answer. He wanted an escape. He wanted to live. He wanted to go home. He wanted a home to go back to in the first place. He wanted a choice. He wanted to go back in time and make that choice. There were so many people he wanted to look square in the face and just say, "NO." Just... "NO." But all of those people were dead, and it was too late. And then there was that little door in his mind. The one that lead to her. There was a light under that door now, the kind that says there's someone waiting on the other side.

 _Come with us._

 _You're not alone._

A false salvation. Warm, comforting... and a trap. An intangible delusion, as easy to hold onto as the humidity hanging near the ceiling.

There had been a time in recent memory when he'd been afraid she'd appear, out of nowhere and borne on the wings of the Force with no warning, while he was in the middle of a shower like this one. Countless times he'd envisioned the face she would make if confronted with more than just his bare chest. Other times he'd fixated on exploring what it would have been like to be that naked and open and vulnerable to her. But that was over now. Any possibility of that ever happening had packed up and ridden away with her on that black command shuttle, racing for freedom across hyperspace with every last shred of his hope. He couldn't even find it funny anymore.

So hollow in the middle it hurt, he placed his hands to either side of the faucet controls and pressed his forehead against the tiles, allowing a soothing torrent of water to cascade down his back. Never more certain of his solitude than he was right then, he allowed himself to whisper his most private confession to the damp 'fresher walls and the tiny whirlpool between his feet.

"I miss her."

There was more he could have said, other words he could have used... but this was what he was okay with.

Swaddled in his silken black robe, he took refuge in his bed chamber. He would dress in a moment. He would consider trying to choke down a light meal in a moment. He would apply another bacta patch to the grazed blaster wound on his right shoulder... in a moment. Right then, all he wanted to do was sit on his bed in the quiet dark with his head in his hands. The pressure he was under was causing him to crack and come apart, flaking away first with small pieces, but threatening larger chunks to follow.

Both he and Hux knew he gave no orders. Both he and Hux knew there was no stupid "financial meeting," or any other vapid excuse for an unexplained absence. The brazen audacity to tell such a bold-faced lie made two things unequivocally clear to Ren: the first was that Hux most certainly had a plan he was enacting, and the second was that he was extremely confident it would work. Because he knew if it didn't, Ren would have him drawn and quartered. By hand. Publicly.

And unless Ren could get himself one step ahead of Hux, he knew he was as good as dead. Force or no Force. The danger didn't come as a shock. There was no safe harbor for a man like him - not even Rey could promise him that. His life was in peril no matter where he went. He was an ambitious target for anyone who craved power, trophy, credits, political gain... or revenge. It was no longer a question of "if." The question was, "how much longer?" He couldn't eat. And sleep would likely elude him again. He massaged his aching forehead with his fingertips.

It really _was_ lonely at the top.

"You don't look so good," came an infuriating voice that made his left eye twitch. It used to be lonely... This wasn't better.

"It's not me, it's you," was his flippant retort as he pinched his lips between his steepled fingers.

Without invitation, the glowing blue form of Luke Skywalker took a seat beside him on his bed.

"There are several core worlds on your current vector," he said, "Ord Mantell, Coruscant...but you don't seem to be slowing near any of them. Would it be safe to hazard a guess your destination is Tython?"

"What does it matter? You're dead."

"Yes, yes... how easy it is to forget..." The apparition actually rolled his eyes. "Thank you _so_ much. You're right, though - it doesn't matter. Your destination is completely irrelevant. What only matters is what you plan to do when you get there."

If Ren couldn't answer that for himself, then he surely wasn't going to go through the effort of conjuring up some fabrication for the irritating ghost of his dead uncle. He decided to stick to the official First Order line of bantha dung then.

"They are a font of resources. They bear historical and religious importance. Tython is too necessary a world to languish under the uncertain future of the Republic. They will be converted."

"Converted? That's what you're calling it now?"

"You know what I mean."

"No, no I don't. And I don't think you do either. That's the point I'm trying to make."

"There is no trying, there is only- "

"Ben. Don't be pedantic - we both know I'm here to help you. And Tython's a tough nut to crack. Tell me what 'converted' means."

"I..." He had him there. To be fair, he'd only just made that last part up on the fly because it sounded good and he'd hoped the conversation would've taken a different path. Luke Skywalker had never exactly been famous for being easily cowed, however.

"Ben," Luke continued, "come on. I can forgive a foul mood given everything you've got on your plate... but can't we put our differences aside for one night and just talk? If I'm wrong, I promise you I'll get up and leave right now. But it just..." he sighed, "it just seems like you could really use some company right now."

That hit a little closer to the mark than he wanted. It hurt. A little more than he could safely conceal. It was so sad that so many people had to die before someone finally offered to be there for him. To talk... to listen. If Master Luke had done that in the first place all those years ago then maybe... Chewing his lip, he bowed his head to let it rest on his thumbs.

"Will you promise to stop showing up when I'm in the shower?"

"Yeah, it's weird, I don't know why that keeps happening. I'll see what I can do."

"That would be great, thanks." He blew a long exhale, and the dam that withheld his reluctance broke, having grown too frail under this ceaseless amount of constant stress. "Conversion means we're going to put a satellite station in orbit. The official story is that the world's government is currently experiencing a certain amount of civil unrest. I would like to attempt to negotiate the terms of their defection from the Republic before resorting to... other means. The satellite is supposed to be used as an initial point of contact. It's purpose is to facilitate easier transfer of communications between the planet's surface and, well..." he shrugged as he looked up to face his uncle, "me."

"So, it's a glorified listening station, then. And what's the real story?"

"It's weaponized."

"I should have suspected."

"Armed to the teeth. Each station is fully outfitted with a fourth generation solar refractor and particle laser, and an array of fission bombs. Among other things, that just... names a few. And let's not kid ourselves, it won't be communicating with me."

"Why are you telling me all of this?"

"It was your idea to talk..."

"No, I mean so freely," Luke crossed an ankle over his other knee and leaned in with greater interest. "I can feel your fear just, just..." he reached out a transparent hand and shook it all around Ren's perimeter, "just crawling all over you. I know you already sleep with one eye open, Ben. Aren't you afraid I'll just take this information to Rey?"

He must have flinched at the mention of her name. His eyes must have glued themselves to the floor a little too quickly. He tried so hard to suppress the scowl that pulled at the corners of his mouth, but he couldn't get his face to work right. He was just... so tired.

"Do you... _want_ her to know?" Luke asked.

He couldn't say he didn't care. He didn't have the will power to force the words out of his mouth. He wasn't ready to give up the charade, not when it was the only life raft he had left to cling to. He passed a hand through his damp hair, causing icy drops of water to carve streams of cold down his neck. It almost felt good.

"Oh, Ben..." his uncle lamented. "It's okay, you know. It's okay to miss her." He let an arm dangle off the edge of his leg from where his elbow pitted his knee. "Give yourself permission. With everything that's ugly in this galaxy right now, it seems a shame not to appreciate a little beauty. Happiness is a choice."

Ren wanted to punch the man in the mouth who invented that saying. If happiness was a choice, then that meant it was also sometimes a foot in someone's ass.

"Ben, what will you do if Tython doesn't come peacefully? You can't burn this one down. What will you do?"

Ren swallowed the wave of nausea that surged through him. Tython was the face of his father all over again. Tython was his mother, standing on the bridge of her enemy ship praying for the life of her son instead of her own. Tython was the shot fired that he wasn't quick enough to deflect. Tython was the next piece of his soul he'd be asked to sacrifice, when there was so little of it left.

Tython was the eyes of a lonely scavenger girl who managed to force her way into his damaged and exposed core to offer him a lovely promise that he would cling to desperately, even if he knew she couldn't keep it.

Tython was the choice he would have to make. It was a waterfall - he could try to swim upstream... or just give up and fall over the side, plunging fathoms deep into a place he could never leave. Either way, Tython was his death... he just had to choose which death he preferred.

"I'm going to give you some unsolicited advice," Luke told him.

"I guess that's what makes it unsolicited."

"You're the Supreme Leader, Ben. You have an opportunity that only _one_ person in the _whole galaxy_ will have at one time. You have the ability to impact change. The difference between you and the other leaders that came before you, though, is that you're not entirely sold on what's right and what's wrong. You still have the capacity to question the difference between a positive change, and that which is harmful. You still have the chance to toss destiny out the air lock and walk your own path.

"Please, Ben... don't make the same mistake I did, long ago. Don't wrong yourself the way I wronged you." With this plea, Ren felt the familiar cool tingle of the Force when Luke laid a hand on his shoulder. He looked up and met his eyes - eyes that were wide and imploring and sincere. Eyes that were begging. "Don't doubt yourself. The way I did. Trust in your decision. Trust in your beliefs. Trust in your abilities. Trust in what you _know_ you are, and forget what others want you to be. And above all, trust in the Force. Let it guide you, let it help you. It will catch you if you fall."

"And how did that work out for you?" He couldn't help himself.

"Yeah, hehe... I'm guess I'm still dead."

Ren could only grin and nod.

"To be fair," Luke said as he stood and walked across the room, his outline growing more faint and his voice less distinct, "it's really not that bad. All that aside, though, ask yourself this: what do you really need to walk in Anakin's footsteps? What tools are really required for bringing order and balance to a war-torn galaxy? Is it really a throne? Or... is there something else? Just... just think on that, will you? Oh, and get some sleep - you're starting to look like steamed muja fruit."

His parting shot fired, the ghost of Luke Skywalker slowly dissipated as he walked through a wall and disappeared, leaving Kylo Ren once again alone with his thoughts, his fears, and his silence.

* * *

Oh, how those massive, towering, glorious hairy arms had never felt so fine. After a good long embrace, Rey straightened herself up and spit the fur out of her mouth.

"Are you okay?" she asked the Wookiee. "I was so worried about you!"

One heavy paw tousled her hair and smoothed it over, reassuring her and beckoning for her to follow. As she stepped away from the shuttle, the sharp black craft seeming obtrusive and out of place resting in a hangar that didn't belong to the First Order, she started to take notice of other details. Parked innocuously out of the way was the sleek, streamlined form of the Twilight Zephyr. Bunched together on the mezzanine that housed the flight deck terminal and its subsystems was a group of large men - they were dirty, greasy, and some were heavily scarred, and they watched their every move with sullen unblinking menace. They were some of the roughest looking characters Rey had ever seen, and they were also thankfully bound and gagged. Some were even bruised and swollen. Evidently, they were prisoners. Something had clearly happened. Something like running afoul of an angry Wookiee.

Where did this ship come from...? Did it belong to Maz, or...

Rey turned a slow circle as she walked, and once Finn, Omar, and the children had all disembarked the shuttle, their benefactor's flight deck crew swarmed in to finish proper docking procedures and post-flight shut down checks. Though comprised of a smorgasbord of different races, Rey happened to notice the crew was entirely female. Every single last one of them.

Even as they wound through the walkways and passages of the ship's interior she saw the trend continue. The greater bulk of the women were Twi'lek of various colors, all of them wearing their long, fleshy lekku in a variety of different shapes and styles. They were singing while they worked - all of them the same song in their native tongue. It was a tune that likely bore some sort of meaning or cultural value - Rey could hear their own young Twi'lek girl humming along as she followed behind. Many of the women reached out their fingertips to connect with the girl as she passed, their eyes beaming with maternal affection toward her. The girl accepted their touch graciously and smiled, visibly relieved to be among so many of her own people.

As they moved through a larger engineering station with an adjacent cargo space, Rey saw even more women. A handful were human like her, but had obviously seen better days. Their shoulders were slumped, their eyes dull, their skin pallid and worn. They seemed wary and nervous of strangers. There were two small Rodian females attempting to replace a bad power relay running through the coupling on the bulkhead. They were chattering away at each other in their chirping little sing-song voices; they were the lively, verdant color of the seaweed on Ahch-To. They paused only a moment to greet Rey, flicking a familial gesture with their little sucker fingers, but like every other woman on that ship, they cowered away from Finn and Omar. Even the red Zabraki woman, with her arms of sinewy muscle and her crown of intimidating spikes, kept one wide eye on Rey's male counterparts.

They put off a feeling that was too strange not to notice. And it told a vulgar tale.

"Rey..." Finn whispered at her elbow. "I've been on bad ships a lot in my life. Something bad happened on this ship, Rey. Something bad happened to these women."

Omar was right. This _was_ a slave trading ship. Or, at least it used to be. Trading a very specific sort of slave. Now it belonged to a Wookiee who understood what it meant to be a slave. Now it belonged to the Resistance.

"Not anymore," Rey responded to her friend as they continued.

They reached a large central gathering space. Lining the room were dusty leather couches, strewn metal chairs and tables littered with used dishes and boxes containing games, cards, and holo vids. There were other passages that lead away - at least one lead specifically to the bridge of the ship and others to decks housing crew quarters - and there was a large holo projector in the middle of the floor. It was an older model that took up more space than newer, more efficient versions.

"There you are," called a voice Rey could have recognized anywhere. She was surprised to see the projector still lying dormant, having expected the sound to emanate from a blue-ish, floating mirage shot into the air by the device. Instead, Maz Kanata herself wandered down the steps from the bridge, looking every bit as much of a warm and matronly little piece of wrinkled and bespectacled leather as she always had. The tiny older woman smiled brightly at Rey, her eyes sparkling from behind the glass baubles she wore on her face. "Come, come," she directed them both to take a seat on a couch, "let me see you." Rey took her hand and eagerly complied.

"Yes... yes," Maz said as she removed her glasses and took Rey's face in her hands to inspect it the same way she would a melon at the market. Her thumbs tugged at the corners of her eyes. "You've gained wisdom since I last saw you. Wisdom is gained through hardship. Are you alright, child?"

So much had happened. Ahch-To, the Supremacy, Crait. So much defeat. So much death. The loss of Leia Organa, the burning of the Millennium Falcon. The futility of the Resistance itself, the trail of violence and destruction, the robbing of innocence... the hard lessons learned. And then in the middle of it all, the eye of the storm, was Ben Solo and the tender bond of shared empathy that bound them together still. She didn't know where to begin.

"It's okay to say no," Maz told her as she winked.

"I..." Rey began, pulling the strap of her satchel off of her shoulder, "I'll admit I'm much better now. Leia, before she..." she gulped and Maz squeezed her shoulders with her small hands, sending her strength, "she told us to speak with Lando Calrissian."

"Yes, yes. That is the naked truth, isn't it." She refused the datapad Rey had tried to hand her, but instead gestured to another female crew member. This one was monstrous and covered with a hanging and matted grey pelt that framed an immense and boarish face. In spite of her appearance, the woman was quite gentle and kind as she retrieved for them two glasses of cool, clean water. "You need time to grieve, but you need cash more. And cash flow. You need ships and defenses. Food and fuel. Medical supplies." She stepped down and wandered as she spoke. "You need everything. You need to get back in the game, and play it smart."

"Heh," Finn hummed to himself. "That reminds me of something someone said to me recently." He crossed his arms as he leaned against the bulkhead. "Live free, don't join."

"True," Maz replied as she approached Omar, "men who have no loyalties betray no one. But those men move no stars. Some games are worth playing. How are you, my friend?" she asked Omar as he stepped away from his daughter to shake Maz's hand. "It would appear your latest run has given you some difficulty."

"Nothing we couldn't handle," he told her, with none of the gruff disdain he had no trouble heaping all over Finn and Rey. "What are you doing out here?"

"In space?" Maz laughed. "I do get away from time to time, I'll have you know! The castle still has a full staff - it's still slinging drinks and offering hot meals and warm beds to weary travelers, but it's become an untrustworthy base for operations."

"Since _we_ showed up," Rey guessed.

"There's a surprise," Omar muttered, back to his normal self.

"More specifically since the First Order arrived and left their pieces all over my lawn," Maz corrected him. "It now reeks of spies, more than the usual brand, and there's far too many blaster holes for me to keep up with. It gives me stress. Some time away has done me good. But- "

Her head jerked around as if remembering something important she'd forgotten. She squinted at the satchel Rey had laid on the table as if it struggled to hold a rabid monkey lizard within its tenuous confines. She leaned forward with great interest as she took a few steps toward it, pointing.

"There's something else you have in that bag, child. Let's see it."

Rey knew immediately what it was. She paled with horror and humiliation. It was Maz, after all, who had entrusted her with such a monumental responsibility. She sighed and shrunk under the weight of her own pitiful failure as she reached into the bag and retrieved the two splintered halves of the legacy Skywalker light saber. Instead of the shrieking reprimand Rey had expected, however, Maz had only looked at her in bemusement and chuckled.

"I see... spent time with Ben Solo, have we?"

"And how..."

"I can feel his residue. It saturates your very skin."

"Gross..." Lena mumbled before she rolled her eyes and followed the Twi'lek girl down another passage.

"You were together when this happened, yes?" Maz continued. Rey only shrugged, tilted her head, and nodded. "How the Force must have wailed."

"Like it was being stabbed," Rey answered. "I still hear it sometimes when I'm sleeping."

"Yes. Did you understand what it was saying when it spoke to you?"

"It was... more like a feeling."

"A feeling of what?"

Rey mused for a moment, looking back on it. His face clouded her vision, his gloved hand still outstretched, his eyes still pleading for her to stay. Their toes lined up to touch the divide between the Light and the Dark, the gulf that eternally seemed intent on forcing them apart, his body taught and willing to drag her across if she'd only said yes. It was the same reason he couldn't leave the Vindicator, it was the same reason he wasn't sitting with her before Maz just now - it was the same reason the saber was dissected to begin with. They hadn't yet found common ground. That was what the Force had tried to tell her.

"It felt like... like sacrifice. It sacrificed itself to show us something."

"Yes indeed," Maz agreed as she gently picked up the pieces for closer examination. She upended the side that still held the crystal, allowing it to fall free. Pinched between her fingers, she lifted it to the light revealing the jagged fracture that ran the length of its rough-hewn, azure shape. "It's telling you now that you have a choice to make."

"I know... we have to get these children to safety and we have to regroup with the- "

"It's about destiny, girl. You are a tool of the Force just as this weapon is the tool you'd use to carve your own fate." Maz handed the broken pieces back to their rightful owner. "What you have to decide, now, is whether or not you'll let the past die, or," she pointed to the saber to punctuate her point, "whether or not you'll fix what is broken.

"Forge it anew. Make the two halves whole. Make them stronger, together, than they were before."

There was no choice, Rey knew it. Her mind had already been made.

Ben Solo could not remain on the Vindicator or he was going to die. One half was useless without the other. And changing either of them into something they weren't meant to be invalidated the way they were supposed to fit together. She wasn't supposed to drag him into the Light. He wasn't supposed to smother her in Darkness. They were supposed to meet. They were supposed to coincide.

They were meant to coexist.

But they couldn't do that if Ben Solo was dead. The choice was made. And Omar Entero was _not_ going to like it.

"Maz," Rey asked, gripping the halves of the saber so tightly in her hands they left indentions. "Is it possible to find out where the Vindicator is headed?"

"I can tell you where," the voice filled the room, yet only Rey could hear it. She did notice Maz smile mysteriously, however, as she turned to address Omar's fresh rounds of protest. Rey leaped to her feet to greet the misty, opalescent outline of Luke Skywalker.

"You... you've seen him," she said to the air, and Finn eyed her like she'd lost her mind. She waved him off as if to tell him that, by now, he should know better. And, really... he should.

"It's headed to Tython, and for the good of all involved, believe me," Luke told her, chilling her shoulder as he laid a spectral hand on her to grasp hold of it, "you cannot get there fast enough. I was wrong.

"Go to him, Rey. You have to save him."


	12. Ch 12: It Will Catch You When You Fall

TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter will contain elements drawn from concepts and language regarding physical and emotional abuse. Please read - and enjoy - at your own pace and discretion, and know that no matter what, you matter, you are beautiful, you are amazing, and you are loved. And if you ever need to talk, I'm here for you.

 **Chapter 12: It Will Catch You When You Fall**

"You have to save Ben Solo."

"Wait," Rey began, flabbergasted. "How... how are you..." Luke could only roll his eyes skyward as the girl waved an arm through his immaterial chest.

"Aren't you...?"

"Dead?" he supplied. "Yes. Is the Force responsible for my being here? Yes. Are you the only person who can see me? Yes. Do we have more important matters to discuss? You bet. We can talk on the finer points of force ghosts some other time. Right now, we have some decisions to make, and time is running out."

"But..." While it was true Ben was undeniably in grave danger, and someone, _somewhere_ , had to do something, the question still remained. "How can we save a man who doesn't want to leave?"

"I don't think that's the problem," Luke replied. "I think the problem is that he doesn't believe he has another option." No way out but through. "He's flying blind, and he's at the mercy of gravity. He needs a softer landing."

"He needs another option," Rey agreed.

"Rey," Finn interjected, rightfully puzzled, "I-I know I'm only picking things up from context here, but- "

"It's Luke, I'm talking to Luke."

"The dead guy...?"

"Through the Force."

"Right, of course, so... no. No, table that. Why are we saving Kylo Ren?"

"Finn..." Rey could only blink at her friend. "He just- "

"I mean, I know he gave us a huge leg up back there, and I'm grateful. We wouldn't have made it out of the system if he hadn't done... what he did. Which I still don't understand, by the way. But Rey..."

"Finn," she replied, knitting her eyebrows. "Weren't you afraid you couldn't leave the First Order by yourself? Weren't you afraid you needed help?"

"Yeah, but- "

"Weren't you afraid you had blood on your hands? And the whole galaxy was your enemy? You should know better than anyone."

Hands on his hips, Finn closed his eyes to the ground and shook his head. His face darkened with the same look he'd had when they'd left Bespin and the tremors of the life he'd left behind first began to shake their conversation.

"I do, Rey... I know I do. But... but what happens if we get to Tython and we find ourselves knee deep in star destroyers, walkers, and troopers... and he fails to launch? And there we are, surrounded? I'm not saying Luke would intentionally lead us into a trap, but- "

He was interrupted by a shrill chime from the holo projector alerting them to an incoming transmission. Before either of them could answer the summons, Maz had reentered the room.

"Ah!" she sang sweetly as she lifted a hand to the air. "That would be your General!"

"Poe?" Finn asked. He received his answer when the projector sprang to life. "Poe!"

"Finn!" the staticky blue image cried. "They _did_ find you!"

"We tried to make it a challenge," Finn laughed at his friend, "but I think Chewie's played this game before!"

Rey had trouble finding the humor in the situation. Not only was she still holding a broken lightsaber, she now had to explain why there was a First Order command shuttle sitting in the hangar bay instead of the Millennium Falcon. It seemed like everything she touched since she left Jakku ended up broken.

What if she was the last person in the galaxy who should be making any attempt to rescue Ben Solo? What if he ended up just as broken? Could she even break what was already broken? She turned to seek out guidance in the eyes of Luke Skywalker, but found he'd returned instead to the ethereal plane from whence he'd come.

"I'm just glad to see you're both okay," Poe smiled with warm sincerity, though his stance remained infamously cocksure in how easily it rested on one leg.

"Chewie said things got a little hairy back there. Heh, pardon the pun."

"We'll be back soon," Finn told him as he met Rey's eyes and nodded firmly, "just have a few obligations to attend to first."

"You haven't looked out the view screen yet, have you."

Confused, Rey stuffed the lightsaber back in her satchel, then entered the passageway that lead to the cockpit of the craft. She took the steps two at a time until she came face to face with the barrier that separated her from the velvety, resplendent field of starlight outside the ship. Parked beside them, still and patient as a friend who'd come calling to play, was the last good transport craft belonging to the Resistance fleet. In spite of her previous trepidation, Rey couldn't keep from clapping her hands together with joy. It was so good to be back amongst so many friends.

The transport fired its little impulse boosters to bring itself around. It was big enough Rey was concerned it would be unable to squeeze itself into the hangar next to the shuttle and the catamaran, but she quickly found she was wrong to underestimate Poe's abilities to land a craft. In spite of the ample evidence to the contrary.

She met Finn's shoulder in the hangar as the transport's hatch seals broke with a crack and a hiss. Unsurprisingly, the first pair of feet to hit the deck were those belonging to Rose Tico. Rey bit her lip to hide her amusement as she watched the smaller girl sprint across the bay only to stop just short of Finn's waiting arms.

"You're okay, yes?" she asked. "You're not hurt?" She held her arms out between them. "Everything's in one piece that's supposed to be in one piece?"

"Everything's in one piece," Finn confirmed as he wrapped her up in his arms and lifted her, closing his eyes as he let her toes dangle in mid-air.

"I see you traded in that old bucket of bolts," Poe called from the gangway of the ship, staring up at the imposing black obelisks that made up the command shuttle's wings. The bubble of tension that had grown painfully in Rey's chest burst like a great big balloon. She happily deflated with a long, glorious sigh. "That's, uh... one hell of an upgrade," he continued. "This thing have leather seats? I bet it has leather seats. Ren strikes me as a leather kind of guy."

"Trust me," Rey laughed in return, happy to finally be able to, "he's more of a bare metal kind of guy. Lower maintenance and easier to clean. We're lucky that thing has seats at all."

"Sadomasochist, huh? Yeah, that sounds about right."

"I've sent a coded message to D'Acy," Connix called as she activated the hydraulic lifts to close the gate. "Let her know we've arrived safely."

"What are you doing all the way out here, man?" Finn asked once he finally came up for air.

"What, a guy can't stretch his legs?"

"Of course not! You're a General now! Generals don't stretch, they make other people stretch."

"Says the guy who never watched General Leia Organa run down a glitchy astrometric droid. I'll tell you that story sometime. It's a good one."

"He's here for a very good reason," Maz called to them from the entry to the main corridor. "While some Generals may not be known for their _land_ speed, they are known for brokering deals that cannot be refused."

"Deals?" Finn mused as he cocked an eyebrow to his friend. "What sort of deals?"

"Lucky ones. It would seem that the First Order has finally shot off its own foot."

"There have been rumors lately, at the castle," Maz continued as they walked the length of the passageway, "disgruntled rumors from disgruntled parties. The list of collateral losses itemized in the First Order's bank ledger has earned them a few new enemies. Enemies who are perhaps inclined to inquire upon whether or not they can do better business... elsewhere. I have agreed to set up an initial introduction. One that should most certainly take place _outside_ the castle."

"That makes sense," Rey agreed.

"Now, a few pointers," Maz told Poe, stopping him with a finger in his belly as they entered the main common area and gathered around the holo projector. "Be shrewd, but be reasonable. They are businessmen and have an incentive to cut a deal, but their own interests are their priority. As yours should be to you. Be assertive, but keep a cool head. It is unlikely they will be making you any hard offers during this first parlay, but it is okay to say no to anything that is not advantageous. Don't be too friendly. And keep them on the line for as long as you're able. Even if we walk away from this strange little liaison empty handed, we could still gain valuable intel on happenings within the Order."

As Rey watched Maz punch a few buttons on the projector, leaving Poe to collect himself and straighten his spine in preparation, she couldn't help the feeling that was gnawing a hole in the pit of her gut. Was Ben the finger on the trigger that the First Order fired on itself? Was this what he was so afraid of? Was it this self-sabotage on the part of the First Order that put his life in danger? Did he even know this was happening?

... or was it even his idea?

Where were they even? And how far away was Tython?

She sucked in a quick breath when the projector flared again, filling the air above it with a hazy curtain of static. After a few moments, the pixelated fog coalesced into the shapes of two figures - the first a tall, grey-bearded man bearing the type of small pot belly commonly associated with age in human males, and the other a strange creature with floppy, fleshy ears, strange eyes, and a vented mask that covered the greater bulk of its face. Satisfied with the reception, Maz stepped to Poe's side and began the conference.

"Gentlemen," she stated mildly. "Good evening. At least I do hope my calculations are correct - it is evening where you are, yes?"

"You could guess," the man answered her, "but you know I will neither confirm nor deny over publicly transmitted channels."

"Fair enough. Although I do assure you this connection is secure. Gentlemen," she gestured to Poe, "as you know, I coordinated this meeting to introduce you to General Poe Dameron, formerly of the New Republic Fleet."

"Charmed," was all the man had to say, doing his best to seem lofty and disinterested, though logically that was completely untrue. This call was his idea.

"Poe Dameron, might I introduce Harlan Nylk, a chairman on the board of directors for Hoersh-Kessel Shipyards and Manufacturing. Joining him is his associate, Parduk, with Killian Arms." The masked alien, Parduk, merely inclined his head in greeting.

"From what I hear," Poe responded, "the pleasure's all mine."

Ships and guns. Naturally. Rey chewed her lip. It wasn't difficult to see where this was headed.

"We'll be brief," Nylk began. "I'm curious, Poe Dameron, what you know - if anything - about the speculation and futures on gas, ore, and other mined materials?"

"I know you're hear to talk to me because the First Order has been wreaking havoc on a lot of their own mining operations lately."

"Hmm," Nylk hummed as he pressed a finger to his lips. "So blunt. Kanata did mention you were blunt. Yes." He dropped his hand, sniffed, and straightened. "Yes. That is correct. And when incidents occur, there is pressure. And where pressure is applied, speculation starts to go wild on things like... barrels of Tibanna gas, for instance.

"You see, it's a strange irony. Markets on things like metals and composites are oddly quite fluid - they tend to flow toward the path of least... resistance, if you'll pardon the pun."

"I do love a good pun."

"Which means that- "

"So let me get this straight," Poe interrupted, impatient to get to the heart of the matter. "The long and short of it is this: the First Order is making it too hard for you to do business, and you're looking for that easier path."

"Precisely. The market is showing favoritism, at the moment, toward other, less volatile sources of revenue."

"'At the moment.' Which means that could change. No pressure, I'm sure..." Poe was obviously adept at shrewd. Hands at his waist, he leaned on one indignant hip, the heel of one foot scuffing the floor. Maz appeared to be reassured.

"As I said, the market is quite fluid. I cannot change the nature of the beast. But I would caution you to strike while the iron is hot. Which is why I urge you to consider discussing this matter in person, in a neutral location. There are details to examine that are quite sensitive and... shall we say... space is not as silent and impersonal as it may seem."

"Okay, so, where would you suggest we meet?"

"Tython."

Rey heard a voice speak the name, but that voice was not her own. She was certain she'd felt the syllables tap against her tongue, but the word had never left her. She just wasn't the kind of person that could align her fortunes that easily. The voice, though - strong and clear - had instead belonged to Maz. She knew it was her the instant the mischievous sparkle in the older woman's eyes connected with her own.

"That political vipers' nest?" Nylk cried. "I'd sooner step into my own grave!"

"More likely you'll step into the poor house first," Maz confronted him, stepping closer to the holo projection and adjusting the glass lenses on her face. "And don't be so foolish. Tython is a core world. Their political and socio-economic structure is entirely hinged on their ability to remain apathetic and neutral. I can think of nowhere safer."

Except that by the time they got there, there would be a massive black First Order flagship hanging in orbit, potentially liquifying this already fluid deal to the point that it vaporized and vanished into thin air.

"Maz," Rey called, once the businessmen had begrudgingly agreed to their terms to meet, and henceforth severed the holonet connection. The projector zapped and popped once before its light was extinguished. "Isn't Tython- "

"The place where everything will come together?" she answered, understanding the question before Rey could even ask. "Why yes! Just imagine what kind of deal that pair of womp weasels would be willing to extend with a literal fire lit under their butts!"

* * *

Per usual, Kylo Ren found meditative calm to be as fictitious and delusory as ever. It seemed as if, anymore, the act of meditation really only served as an excuse to close his throbbing eyes for a time and try to soothe the pounding between his temples. Shut out the aching light, and blanket himself in soft, palliative darkness. So strong was his anticipation of imminent attack, he didn't even flinch when his lightsaber ignited and crackled with light, burning away the blackness in his chambers with its fiery, demonic glow. Really, he sort of expected it at this point. He drew a long, deep breath and yawned with his whole face. Rubbing the corners of his eyes, he turned to see Ali with the saber in his hands.

The boy was more terrified than he was angry. He shuffled gracelessly with sideways steps as he more fully entered the room, his arms arrow-straight and shaking as he held the lit saber out in front of him. The tip trembled with the boy's inability to wield such a weapon, bobbing and dipping with his fierce determination to use it as a completely hopeless barrier between him and his enemy. In the midst of his hasty, childish gambit the boy forgot that it would only take one casual gesture from Ren to remove from him his futile attempt at self-defense.

Ren didn't know why he let him keep it. Perhaps the reasons were too numerous to put a finger on. Perhaps his own nihilism had reached a point of curious entertainment. Perhaps it was refreshing to watch someone else grapple for control for a change. Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands before him in a relaxed display of unusual patience.

"Your hands are too close together," he instructed, ignoring the reasons why he had a lit lightsaber pointed at him in the first place. "Lead with your main hand, it has better dexterity. It knows how to strike. Your other hand is there to support and lend stability - pull it back. Your hands shouldn't fight each other. They should know their roles and work together."

"You won't make me do it!" the boy cried as he shifted his hands. The blade still shook, but it was no longer drawing wild figure-eights in the air. "You won't make me kill her!"

"Your name is Ali, yes?"

"I WANT TO GO HOME!" the boy cried, inadvertently swinging the saber with the effort. His eyes were bright with tears and rage as he ripped the weapon back up to spear the space between them like a red, hot poker. He made two staggered strides forward to punctuate his fury and Ren calmly found his feet. While he was mostly certain the child would prove unable to strike an injurious blow, he also had no need of risking an extra scar to decorate his body. He was also concerned the child might accidentally hurt himself.

"It takes more than just a weapon to kill a man," Ren coached him as the Force yanked the saber out of his hands. The room was plunged back into darkness as the hilt landed heavily on a nearby bedside tabletop. His shoulders straight and his arm returned to his side, Ren stared down the length of his nose. "It takes conviction. Do you know what that means?"

"I know you killed your father," the boy wept openly, now helplessly vulnerable with tears spilling down his face. "I won't be a monster like you!"

"Conviction comes from strength," Ren continued, ignoring the insult. One could only hear the word "monster" so many times before the sentiment grew antiseptic and numb. He slowly crossed the room to retrieve his robe. "But where do you find your strength? Strength does not come from nothing. You must draw it from a source." He used a long wooden wand to wick a small flame from one red taper to another, and then another. "You are angry. Very little fuels strength better than anger. Your anger stems from your isolation. I understand what that means. And I know it sounds strange, but it gives you a choice."

"I already know my choice!"

"You can _choose_ to let it stab at you. Carve you away until there's nothing left but your weaknesses." Bathed in the serene comfort of flickering candlelight, he turned again to face his young, agitated adversary. "You can let it leave you crippled like that, if you wish. Or you can wear it, like armor. You can let it harden into something that will never let anyone hurt you. And that's where you'll find your strength.

"You can kill a man if you know it will never hurt you."

"You're sick! You're sick if you can kill your own father and say it doesn't hurt you! You're evil, and you're sick!"

Suddenly taciturn, adrift in his own sense of inner turmoil, Kylo Ren searched for words. Searched for thoughts, searched for answers. He searched for sage wisdom but only found mocking disbelief. And his search was exhausting - it stifled him with dumb silence. He turned to take a seat, sinking wearily into his mattress. It was difficult to ignore his own litany of failures when they were so easily recognizable by children. His mind tumbled and fell backwards in time as he sat and rubbed his face with both hands.

 _You're stronger than what they want you to be._

The dulcet pull of seduction from a dead master continued to haunt him from beyond the chasm of death.

 _You would belittle yourself to the Senate seat your mother wishes for you? You would be content to the drudgery of the life of a lowly freighter captain, like your father? These are your dreams, boy?_

He could still feel the cold of Snoke's apparition as he invaded the secrecy of his bedroom late at night, as a child. His head still spun, remembering the way he circled around his mind - circled around his body like a ghost, drawing his icy, phantom fingers across the rise of his cheekbones... the breadth of his shoulders... the meat of his thigh... testing his fortitude. Testing his resolve.

He sat before Ali now with his lips pinched tightly between his fingertips, his mind split with seeping wounds. Wounds he once inflicted on himself. Because his master forced him.

 _Draw your strength from your anger, boy. Draw your strength from your hate. Draw your hate from your pain. Your legacy commands it, young Solo. Your destiny is not one of mediocrity - you will be forged in steel by your own pain._

 _And someday you will thank me for this._

The worst part was that he _did_ thank him. He thanked him enough he worshipped him. Worshipped him for the promise of power - the promise of legacy. Worshipped him enough to make sacrifices that would cleave his own soul in two. Worshipped him enough to peel away the last few splinters so there was nothing left of the man he once wished to be. There was nothing left of the love he once felt. There was no memory of laughter or light or tenderness or compassion.

What he got instead was powerlessness. He'd been reduced to nothing more than a blind and obedient slave. A raw, quivering pulp comprised of fear, solitude, self-loathing, and stupidity. Especially stupidity. Why didn't he tell someone? Why didn't he say no?

Because he was too stupid to say no.

He made himself look at the boy Ali. He made himself stare deep into the eyes of a child who hadn't yet been stripped to his core. He made himself swallow the bitter tang of jealousy that the boy could embody such power and not yet be raped by destiny. Reduced to a mewling victim. The way he had been. The way he'd been convinced he could be... transformed.

Because... because he couldn't do it. And he wouldn't. He forced himself to look deeper still and pierce the veil between them - he forced himself to look at _himself_ as he sat strangled with regret. He saw mirrored in that young boy's eyes the same private, desperate wish to be able to go back, summon his own strength, and say _no_. He saw the need remain himself, and resist what others would shape him into.

He saw the same willingness to crack and bleed before he would ever bend.

What he'd said to the child was the truth - he _did_ have a choice. He _did_. He'd just made the wrong one. But it wasn't too late. The conflict that sang within him like a siren from the deep spoke volumes of the choice he made long ago, and the only failures he'd made in his life had been to try to deny it.

"It did hurt me," he confessed at last. To hell with Snoke. To hell with power. To hell with strength. To hell with everything. The feeling of relief, to hear it naked and out in the open, dizzied him like a rush of blood to the head. The release was a flood. This time he decided to feel the pain, instead of pushing it down and letting it harden. This time he took control of it, and he allowed his tears to fall because he wouldn't let anyone tell him otherwise. He wouldn't let anyone make him feel weak.

His pain _was_ his strength, because it showed him the truth.

He stood, took two steps, then knelt before the boy. He didn't touch him, but instead palmed his hands together on his own knee.

"I have been crippled all of my life," he squeezed the words out through his knotted throat. "I loved my father. Very much. But he didn't understand me. And..." he paused to breathe and wipe his face on his sleeve, "and when I was your age, I thought that _he_ thought that I was a monster."

The entirety of Ali's frail, bony frame jerked and hiccuped. He was still afraid, but he was also utterly captured by a shared sense of empathy for a man who was eerily much like him. He'd become riveted to the spot by his own compassion.

"Somebody lied to me," Ren continued, "and convinced me that I could be something better than what I am... if I killed my past. Who is it you think I'll ask you to kill?"

"M-my... my mother," the boy croaked wetly.

"Ali." The hands on Ren's knee became fists. "I can show you where strength really comes from. I can show you how to survive. I can show you," he sniffed and licked the salt from his lip, "how to _fight_. But I will never ask you to kill..." he clamped his eyes shut and bit his bottom lip. The rest was only a hoarse whisper.

"I will never ask you to kill... someone you love."

Ali hung his head and wept. He cried so loudly Ren was afraid he would alert the men stationed at their posts outside his door. He made no move to precipitate the gesture of affection but the boy leaned into him anyway, resting his head on his shoulder and wrapping his arms around his neck. For a moment, he was a little stunned and unsure of what to do. Eventually, he laid a warm hand against the boy's thin, protruding spine.

"It's going to be okay," was all he could think to say. The platitude was probably empty, but it felt right. He couldn't remember his last embrace. Only soft fingertips once, by a fire. "This war will end," he said, "and we'll get you home. Who told you I would make you kill your mother?"

"H-Hux," the boy bleated against his ear.

Hux. Of _course_ it was Hux. What could that pasty, ginger menace hope to gain from a move like this? Was it... this? Was it possible he bargained on a reaction so strong with his left hand that Ren wouldn't notice what was taking place on the right? Was this meant to be a distraction? Would his death have been a bonus had the boy been lucky enough to land the killing blow?

But then, as if designed by the great Maker himself in the halls of heaven above, a lively little chime cast its cheerful little notes happily through the air. It had come from the data pad on the bedside table.

The decryption process was done. At last, the data was ready.

* * *

The two young lieutenants, Allerset and Jenson, preceded General Hux as he descended the exit ramp from the shuttle. He paused a moment on solid ground to allow his stomach to settle. Their ride from the Aggressor had been a rocky one, to borrow the pun. Between the treacherous asteroid field that littered the planet's entire ecliptic plane, and the desecrated remains of an old sacked orbital station, the trip had been turbulent and nauseating. Even as he stood, his toes accumulating a light coating of sand, an abrasive wind whipped through his long coat and scoured the skin on his face.

Nothing could have decried desolation so loudly. Except maybe Tatooine. Or Jakku. No place could have seemed more holy to the ancient Sith of the past, they themselves now only dry bones and dust.

And oh, what dust. Everything on Korriban was the color of dust. From the sandy pillars of stone that made up the ruins before them, to the haze that occluded their view of the sun hanging in the dust-colored sky. Only a force user could have considered a place like Korriban to be inviting. Hux sank into his collar and put his shoulder to the wind as he broke into a light jog, seeking shelter in the lee of those giant fallen stones. Once out of the elements, he retrieved the portable projector he carried in his pocket and summoned a map of the planet's surface.

"My commendations to the pilot," he said to his subordinates, twirling a finger in the air to indicate the weather, "in spite of these conditions, he could still have managed to land us on the head of a pin."

"It took him a moment, sir, to understand what planet we were approaching," Allerset replied, vigorously slapping the dirt from her shoulders. Her crisp adherence to standard dress regulations was impeccable, as was the rosy plump of her lips and the dainty freckles on her nose. He dared not follow the soft, pale line of her neck any further, lest he become... unprofessional. It was strange, what stirrings were conjured by the thrill of culminating a plan into success. "The star chart wanted to call this planet Moraband."

"That is true, and that is what the Republic would have you call it to this day, were it up to them. But those of us whose family trees are rooted in the Empire of the past know this planet for what it _really_ is." He turned the spectral globe over and around, inspecting it from every possible angle. "So, if I have my bearings, it would seem that _this_ is the site of the old Sith Council. Here. Is it not?" He used one fingertip to point out a particular location on the map.

"I would concur, sir," Allerset agreed, her nose glued to the datapad she was using to triangulate their position with the surveillance satellite resting in orbit. Jenson, observing over her shoulder, also nodded his assent.

"Yes, see, that is what I find so surprising," Hux surmised. "Because we are approximately right... _here_. Based on the information I... have been given." Based on the information provided by the boy. He rolled the globe a short distance then pointed once again. "And our satellite does confirm this assessment - this is where the signal emanates from, and clearly we have found a set of ruins," he said, stepping back once and looking up to the leaning pillars, appreciatively tossing one hand in their direction. "But... what is this place? If the Engine is not to be found at the site of the old Council?"

And that was the question, there. While the old Council ruins had been ransacked long ago after the destruction of the orbital station by everyone from scavengers and looters to even the Emperor himself... that seemed a much more logical place to find an artifact as ancient and important and as devastatingly powerful as the lost piece of the Infinite Engine. The Council had once kept meticulous records of the relics they'd held in their conservatory. And the archives did clearly state that, at one time, the Council was in possession of a small fragment of the Engine. But then... if it had been left in the conservatory for safe keeping, then the Engine would have been lost long ago... would it not have?

But Snoke... He could feel the thing - could sense it through the very aether of space and time. Through the Force. Even the young boy, Ali, could sense _something_ here on this planet as well. And then there was the matter of the strange power signature that did, in fact, lead them to this very spot... whatever it was.

But what if they were chasing a ghost? What if Snoke was wrong? Even he was fallible enough to get himself murdered by someone as predictably capricious as Kylo Ren. What if they got to the bottom of their excavation and found the tracking beacon of a lost ship instead, or a low-power indicator - the quiescent death throe - of an ancient, dormant droid? He could not return to the Vindicator without the Engine in hand. To do so would mean his death.

The power signature was strange, though. Belloth had even gone so far as to describe it as "unidentifiable." A ship could be identified. Even a long-extinct model of droid would use frequencies that fit within a certain, diagnostic range. This was different. This was something to truly marvel. This was something that transcended time itself.

This was something that had been waiting a very long time... Calling, impartial with regards to the hands it fell into. It had all the time in the universe. And it was too important to entrust to the old Sith Council conservatory.

What was this place...?

The only way to know was to push on. There was an entry into the structure, but it lay partially hidden beyond a heavy rock fall. It was time for a little heavy lifting.

"Jenson," Hux commanded, "if you would, please."

"At once, General, sir," the young man acquiesced with a polite nod of his head. After a few finger presses and blips on his data pad, a small armada of droids exited the carrier craft that had followed the shuttle. Some were equipped with grasping arms and hydraulic lifts or jacks. Others were more specialized, sporting cutting lasers or cargo capacity. They immediately got to work clearing a path for their General, sawing and lifting and dragging and filling the already dusty sky with even more dust.

When their progress had reached a point where the edifice became clearly penetrable, Hux moved forward, smothering the lower half of his face with the sleeve of his long coat. He batted his other hand around in front of his face, as if swatting at the open air could clear away the hovering miasma of dust and particulates.

Cautiously they entered the ruin, following a parade of BB droids that were sent ahead to secure the area and provide light. They followed a passage that snaked them around a breathtaking, ancient mural before plunging deeper into the heart of the structure. Hux drew a sharp breath of surprise when they emerged into a great, cavernous hall - the echoes of his footfalls resounded against the stone and shattered the dry, musty millennial silence.

"OH!" Allerset shrieked, stumbling sideways sharply enough she nearly toppled over, scattering a small knot of rocks and loose pebbles in the process. A flock of winged reptilian creatures noisily took flight, ascending rapidly to stream out of a fissure overhead that cast a tiny, frail shaft of light into the middle of the room. That hadn't been what had frightened her, though. The instant Hux swung his own light around he nearly swallowed his own tongue in fright.

He noticed its feet first - they were nearly as tall as a man. But then he followed the hem of a mammoth set of robes as it climbed skyward toward the precipice, carved into the stone like another pillar. Towering above them was a gargantuan and terrifying hood, darkening a ghastly unseen face so that all that peeked out from beneath was a pair of glittering red crystalline eyes.

 _Follow the dark, deep down. Find their eyes._

Hux could hear the boy's thin little voice, whispering in the back of his memory as he stared into the most frightening pair of eyes he'd ever seen. And what was even more frightening was that that colossal statue was one of many that lined the walls of that wide open sunken space. Between them were clearly marked passages that lead away to other areas of the complex. There was also a set of two crumbling staircases that once lead to an upper level that was most certainly collapsed and far too dangerous to traverse. And there was writing - old, flaking paint scribing symbols that were significant once to an age long since past.

"What..." Hux began before his eyes filled with grit and he had to cough. "W-what _is_ this place?" he asked again.

It was obvious it bore some sort of cultural meaning. There was no reason to put this level of effort and artistry into a simple armory or a laboratory, or even a library. There was-

Wait.

A library. More than just a library. More than just a laboratory. Suddenly it hit him.

"The Academy," he breathed. "This..." He turned one wonderous circle, flashing a mocking smile at all of those glaring, disdainful, ruby red eyes. "This is the old Sith Academy! Of course! That's why it's here - do you see?" He allowed childlike enthusiasm to overtake him for just a moment as he gripped Allerset by her slender shoulders and stared into her pale, nervous face. "The Engine is here because they were _studying_ it. Perhaps it was even a part of one of their," he flicked a flippant hand into the air, "ridiculous little trials. Yes... yes, that's it, isn't it. Give us a reading, Lieutenant."

"General, sir," Allerset replied, composing herself by straightening her spine and tugging at her sleeves. She coughed daintily into the back of her hand before inspecting her datapad. "It would appear the signal grows significantly stronger in..." she held the pad in front of her, turning it with her body to calibrate her position, "that direction."

She pointed off to a corridor that hid enshrouded in shadow behind the far staircase. The darkness that lie beyond was somehow darker than black... like a void, a black hole. And it was as magnetic as it was foreboding and ominous. Hux took one step toward it and the air suddenly... changed.

It was as if time stopped. It was as if the planet had stopped moving. It was as if he was caught in a trance. He heard nothing outside of the shallow, tentative steps of his own feet as he was pulled before the tall, narrow maw of nothingness by his own curiosity. That... and something else. Something, at first, like the whisper of silk against the cool, rounded surface of timeworn granite. But as he approached and crossed the threshold of that infernal corridor, the whisper became a dissonance of hissing voices, screeching at him in a dead language he didn't understand.

And then he saw it. A light in the darkness. It... pulsed. Like something... alive. Like a heartbeat. It called to him with unspoken words that sank hooks into him deeper than his own name. It claimed him for its own as he claimed it for himself. The ageless, hypnotic lull of destiny carried him forward, unwavering, until it was just before him. He reached out... and he touched it.

The Infinite Engine.

The thing was smaller than he'd guessed it would be, for an artifact so mystically rife with power. It was only about the size of a man's fist. But it was dense and heavy, as if it carried the weight of the universe within its lustrous, metallic frame.

The grin that split Hux's face as he lifted it to the light was nothing short of feral and crazed. He couldn't even breathe as he turned it over in his hands, the tingle of fate - the recipe of ultimate creation and destruction - rippling across the meager flesh of his palms.

"... what does it _do_ , sir?" Jenson asked, his inquisitiveness bordering on impropriety. If he needed to know, he would know already.

"What it does, lieutenant," Hux conjured the base answer, "is change _everything_."

"But... but how does it work?"

Hux ground his teeth. The sudden flare of annoyance that flushed up his neck and face didn't quite feel... human, but he paid it no heed. Snoke was the only living thing in the known galaxy that knew how this apparatus actually worked, and he would have taken it to his death had he not documented it thoroughly in his private logs.

The logs Hux made swift haste to confiscate while the ignorant dullard, Kylo Ren, had been distracted with his quest to evacuate a dying ship and assemble a ground assault on Crait. Even while Ren was slashing away at the mirage of Luke Skywalker, every word Snoke had ever written was being dumped into Hux's own private store, sandwiched between his doctored backup of budgets and reams of technical specifications.

The logs he read. The instructions he memorized.

The logs he then moved onto a pad that he jettisoned into space, to avoid the automated recovery trail of an attempt at deletion. Data could never be deleted. But it could be safely abandoned and lost. Hux turned Jenson's question over and over in his mind as the hefty little Engine rolled its weight between his two eager hands.

Hux was now the only living thing in the galaxy that knew how the Engine worked. And it would _stay_ that way.

"We shall soon see," was all he was willing to answer.

"B-but, sir... how do we know we haven't just recovered a... a dead metal ball...?"

A dead metal... what? Hux's vision turned red with a rush of blood and rage. He must have blacked out for just a moment, because when a sudden muffled cry brought him back to his senses all he could see was his own arm oustretched, his blaster smoking at the end of it... and Jenson's lifeless body sprawled on the ground where he stood. Smoke twisted into the air from the hole in the middle of his forehead. Allerset stood nearby, shaking in her shoes with her eyes squeezed shut and her teeth clamped down on her lips to keep her from losing her faculties. She remembered her combat training and quickly got hold of herself, although she would no longer make eye contact with Hux. He supposed Jenson's untimely death likely murdered any chance the girl would be a willing candidate for a little exercise in "selective breeding" later. Pity, that.

He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the hand that still held the blaster. He'd grown oddly clammy, more so than what was normal for such a dry climate. He calmed his shuddering breath, and holstered his weapon, rubbing both hands over the circumference of the Engine once more. He turned a modest circle and pointed a finger, indicating the corpses of old droids that littered the ground - long-dead sentinels that once guarded the dais upon which the artifact had been resting.

"Collect these," he instructed Allerset, ignoring the way his voice shook. She gestured for assistance and was joined by other officers and obedient droids. "They will make fine test subjects."

And with that, Hux took his leave. He knew the Engine was anything other than dead. It merely lie dormant... and waiting. Waiting for a spark of dark Force to bring it back to life. And Hux had the boy.

He could see it all now, in his mind's eye. A new beginning, and a just ending to the insufferable and embarrassing reign of Kylo Ren.

He couldn't return to the Vindicator quickly enough.

* * *

Kylo Ren laid his head back against his headboard and rested an arm across the bridge of his nose. His eyes were strained and sore from scrolling through page after page of useless information. _This_ was what amounted to Hux's private files? Budgets and utilitarian diagrams? The construction plans for the Death Star and the Starkiller were not exactly unexpected. But the countless files containing nothing more than dry blueprints on everything from walkers to dreadnoughts seemed a bit... of a let down. Where was the condemning evidence? Where were the plots and schemes? Where were the chat logs or the blackmail images or the covert receipts or the crazed manifesto?

Where was Snoke's journal?

There was really only one entry that lead Ren to believe General Hux had ever set eyes on the dead man's private memoir. The rest had all been filled with ordinary business expenditures and accounts receivable... a general ledger detailing each line item over the past fiscal year, from the flagship herself down to every last tube of toothpaste... a rolodex of contacts and vendors, revenue streams and payroll. There was no pattern to the data that Ren could ascertain - no reason why Hux would want to keep this information confidential from the ranks of the Order itself... all except a handful of throw-away lines.

Only one entry. And only that was to arrange transport on the dreadnought Aggressor to the planet Korriban. And something else about retrieving an "engine."

A quick holonet search told him that the planet in question was now called Moraband and it was the ancient home of the Sith, content to spin its solitary existence around its own little sun, somewhere off in the Outer Rim.

But Ren had absolutely no guess about what sort of "engine" needed retrieving. Unless Hux was arranging some sort of black market deal, it was a fairly safe conclusion he was not attending even an unsanctioned financial meeting - not on the lifeless body of the old Sith home world. And not after he'd disobeyed a direct order and sent a squadron from the Third Fleet to assassinate his Supreme Leader. This had nothing to do with a ship or any vehicle of any kind. What could be so important on an inhospitable world like Korriban that would make a loathesome little serpent like Hux risk his own life on treason?

What did all of this mean?

"My lord," called a summons from the door, interrupting any further musing on the conundrum. "If you'll pardon the intrusion- "

"Hux - is it Hux?"

"Um... n-no m'lord. It's, uh... w-we've reached Prakith, sir."

Prakith. The site of an old Imperial fortress. The planet now boasted a bustling metropolitan area, an Imperial-class spaceport, and a successful mining operation for, most specifically, obsidian and cobalt. It was a suitable location to act as command center during this first round of negotiations with the nearby planet Tython, connected through commercial hyperlanes.

"Then it's time to make a plan for first contact," he sighed, drooping his legs over the side of the bed as he sat up. He blanched with a cold sweat and rubbed at the tension in his forehead. The waterfall was now a thunderous plume, hammering at him from within... and he was stepping closer to the edge, looking over the side. "Rally Belloth and the rest of our cabinet," he muttered from behind the hand that still cradled his face, "we'll convene on the starboard- "

"Sir, it's just that," the page stammered, himself a scrawny and pimpled teenager, not much older than Ali napping next door. His eyes grew wide, forgetting himself for a moment and realizing who he'd just interrupted. Rather than wet himself, he chose to courageously continue. "It's just that... we've been hailed sir. Belloth i-is humbly requesting your presence on the bridge."

"Hailed by who...?" Ren inquired, suspiciously. As if a simple page would have been privvy to any information... he was really starting to lose his grip.

"Th-the Miners' Guild, sir. On Prakith. They didn't tell me why, m'lord."

"Of course not. Alright," he conceded as he stood and tied his robe off at the waist. "Tell him I'm on my way."

A short time later he arrived on the bridge, dressed and flanked by a full entourage of Praetorians.

"My lord," Commander Belloth greeted him by snapping his hands to his thighs and bending at the waist in a curt bow. "It would seem the rabble below are making an issue out of showing their Supreme Leader the gracious hospitality you are due." Just the sound of the Commander's voice made Ren's fingers twitch, itching to close around that thick, flabby neck and watch his broad, toad-like face turn purple.

"Put them on," he gestured brusquely toward the officer at the communications panel. He was ready to get this nonsense over with.

"Your Excellency," a voice split through the crackling static. The background noise was busy, filled with the voices of workers, the drones of droids, and the hums of motors and machines. The Miner's Guild representative was making this transmission from the spaceport. It was clear his only purpose for being there was to deny them entry. Otherwise, they all had more important places to be. "Please, you must know, we bear you no disrespect. We only wish we'd received notice of your impending arrival. I fear your visit is... ill-timed."

Ren already lived in a state of near constant irascibility. Whatever petty, plebian quabble this was should have been settled between a pair of lieutenants and the port authority. _Or better yet, by Hux_. He formed a fist at his side, as if tugging at his fingers could keep control of his temper.

"Be honest with me, uh..." he snapped those same fingers impatiently at Commander Belloth.

"Ershan Rigel, my lord."

"Be honest with me, Ershan Rigel. Because I _will_ know if you're not. Have you denied our entry because you sympathize with the Republic?"

"My - my lord!" Rigel sputtered with incredulity and haste. "My lord! W-we pride ourselves on our neutrality! We - we would never- "

"Because if you are choosing not to choose," Ren answered coolly, inspecting the worn seam on his right glove where the rough places on his saber hilt were wearing it thin, "as is your right, then it would seem we have no quarrel. Would you not agree? What is this all about?"

And that's where Ren felt something... strange. Like a tickle or a buzz, vibrating up his spine from where his neck met his shoulders. It stole his breath and gave him a shiver.

"It's just that," Rigel replied, "our workers are just ordinary folks with families to feed. And right now buyers are, uh... they're acting, uh, a little funny towards suppliers who deal with the First Order."

"Define 'funny.'"

"M'lord, sir..." Rigel began, "we're being audited." Ren tried to focus on the words - he could hear their consonants and their syllables, but making sense of them was proving difficult through the din of his sudden distraction. "Certain activities have been deemed risky ever since the events on Bespin and Churruma..." The tickle had turned into an incessant sort of tap, like a child trying to interrupt a parent in the middle of an adult conversation. It was beating with the rhythm of his pulse. "Our records are being thoroughly inspected, and we have to provide full transparency - we're bound by contract."

"Bound by who?" Ren sighed, exasperated and uncomfortable. His collar felt too tight, he was light headed. Something was happening... a disturbance... "Audited by who? The Republic? Their territories fall under the jurisdiction of the- "

"No, the Trade Federation. You play by their rules, or you don't do business in these hyperlanes."

"Oh, for stars' sake..." he mopped the sweat from his brow.

"My lord, please - I beg you to understand. This is tanking our economy. We're starting to experience cutbacks, there's talk of folks leaving for greener pastures. We're starting to bleed employees, production has slowed down... People are afraid they can't provide for their families, afraid their children will go hungry."

"My lord," Belloth stated smugly, his hands clasped behind his back. "We both know that in a matter of months this trend will even out."

Ren couldn't breathe. He was nauseous, his vision was swimming...

"They answer to the Order now," Belloth continued, "and with all due respect, my Lord, this whole heap of rubbish over trade neutrality is a charlatan's farce. They are in no position to deny our entry if we give them a show of force." Belloth's fist landed firmly in the palm of his other hand.

Force. Yes... it _was_ the Force. A ripple... a tremor... something was...

"My... my lord? Are you alright, sir?"

The question rang hollow and echoed between his ears. Belloth sounded miles away, the static miles away, the gasps of the officers on the bridge miles away...

"My lord! Ring the medic!"

He registered his impact with the ground, although he was numb to it. The last thing he saw was a blur of faces peering over him and the harsh, unsympathetic lights the First Order loved so much fading away into a tunnel of black.

* * *

Kylo Ren felt like he only closed his eyes for a second... but when he opened them, he was no longer on the bridge. His vision was poor... cloudy and blackened. It took a few moments before it registered that he wasn't blind, he was just someplace dark.

And he wasn't alone.

He was surrounded by a flock of clicking, whirring, whistling birds. Metal birds... clinking and clanging against each other as they crowded around him, singing in their dull, tinny voices and rubbing their shoulders and elbows against each other... their metal hides shining in the low lights from the hall... the fresher unit... the glowing red tapers... Large enough to be...

Not birds. Droids.

Droids... and the sound of a struggle somewhere across the room. _His_ room. His bed chamber. The one next to...

 _Ali!_

He bolted upright with a gasp, but found himself weirdly immobile. He jerked his right arm - his leading sword arm - and discovered it had been restrained by a cold, unrelenting metal hand. His saber was nowhere to be found, although he was certain he'd been wearing it when he'd previously ascended to the bridge.

There was also no sign of any Praetorian guards. They served no lesser authority than the Supreme Leader himself. Were they all as traitorous as the apostate cabinet of commanding officers on this ship? Or had something worse happened...?

Three more pitiless mechanical bodies moved to fence him in where he lay, and three more filtered in to claim the spaces they'd left behind. The room was nothing more than a churning sea of glowering robotic heads. And then there was the commotion near the entrance to Ali's quarters. The sea parted and a form materialized out of the darkness.

It was Hux.

He had Ali. By his hair.

And he had a gun.

Where the kriff was that stars forsaken lightsaber?

Hux's eyes seemed wide and rheumy, but they gleamed in the dim light all the same with the type of deranged intensity one would expect to see on the face of a serial killer, delighting in his own cruel handiwork. Out of a weird, protective paternal instinct, Ren flung his left hand out in front of him to tug the boy free from his captor... but his intent died quickly. Hux yanked back Ali's head, exposing his small, trembling throat - the boy's teeth chattered in mortal terror as his jaw rattled against the barrel of Hux's pointing weapon. Ren, himself, felt no fewer than three sharp blades dig into his own sides and belly, ready to rip his flesh to strips. It would only take one very tiny wrong move.

So he grew still instead. And he listened. And planned.

"Force users," Hux began with a scoff, "you think this war is all about you. You convince yourselves you have some... some..." he waved the gun around with great flourish before returning it again to jab Ali harshly beneath his chin, " _great destiny_. Like the term is exclusively _yours_.

"The rest of the galaxy, though... we know you for what you _really_ are. And deep down... I think you do, too. I think you have a guess. What is destiny, _Ben Solo_?" he sneered his true name like a foul curse. "Say it."

"You really think you can intimidate me by picking on a scared little b- "

" _SAY IT!_ "

Ali screamed as Hux twisted his head hard enough Ren could hear the boy's neck pop from across the room. He had to tread carefully. Timing would be everything here.

"I..." he stammered... but he knew what Hux wanted. And though he tried to ignore his baser impulse to fling at Hux anything _except_ for what he wanted... he knew it was the truth. He'd known it the very instant he'd locked his own saber against his grandfather's, clutched tightly in Rey's white-knuckled fists... he'd known it the moment he'd stared into her eyes and felt the earth beneath them move, felt the Starkiller begin to die. He knew then her place as well as he'd known his own - he'd known then the story the Force was trying to tell. He just couldn't get himself to admit it.

" _Say it_..." Hux growled again, pushing his face forward in a sinister taunt.

It was that there was no story. He and Rey... were simply two people on a useless collision course that served absolutely no purpose. Their paths should have been wound together long ago. The only reason the schism between them existed in the first place was because someone made a decision ages before they were born. One stupid decision. That had consequences. And affected other decisions. And now their decisions were their own. Their paths were their own to take. And if there was any story left to tell at all, it would only be told through the consequences of _their_ decisions. There was no fate. There was only choice.

"There is no such thing as destiny," Ren heard himself say out loud. He gulped and felt something inside him that he'd clung to for so long finally wither and die. It was like being kicked in the stomach.

"Oh, Ben Solo... the young prodigy... it must be absolutely vile to feel so ordinary," Hux teased him. "But you're wrong. I'll tell you what destiny is."

Ren risked a glance toward his meditation dais... the dresser top... any other surface. Still no saber. He started to feel sick.

"Destiny," Hux continued, his words smearing the air like slime, "is a trap. It's the bait that drags arrogant men like you headlong to your doom every. Single. Time. It is your weakness. It makes you exploitable. Look at this child, _Ben Solo_."

He'd started to count the number of droids, but had lost count somewhere after sixteen.

"LOOK AT HIM!"

Ren snapped his eyes back to Ali, swallowing bile as he forced himself to face his own guilt and stare into the boy's innocent, weeping face. This was all his fault.

"So easy to coerce..." Hux profaned the boy by caressing his cheek with the blaster.

Ali would be with _her_ still, if he hadn't taken him... Would still be with Rey... safe, halfway across the galaxy...

 _Come with us._

"So gullible. Snoke is not the only one capable of manipulating a child with empty promises of destiny..."

Ren could only hang his head. Hux was right... he brought the boy here. No matter what he told himself, _he_ was the one who would have put him through everything Snoke did...

"And for what?" Hux goaded him. "What was it you _really_ think Snoke wanted from you? Do you really think it was your power? You miserable weakling - you couldn't even defeat a nameless scavenger girl! What could you possibly have that Snoke would ever want?"

 _He's using you!_ The ghost of his father beckoned to him from the back of his mind before turning away to fall dead into the unfeeling abyss of memory.

"Your family legacy? HAH! What _legacy_?!" Hux barked a bestial laugh. "Did you really think Snoke needed you to find Luke Skywalker?! Did you even manage that? Or did you fail at that, too, you foolish egotistical CLOWN!"

With that, Hux shoved Ali into the waiting mob of droids, eager to catch him and snag his hair and tear his clothes and poke his flesh and gouge him full of holes. A droid on either side of the boy grasped hold of his flailing, bony arms, lifting his weightless body as they tried to restrain him. He thrashed and kicked like a wild animal.

Everything froze, however, when Hux fired his blaster.

Ren felt a blade slice a bloody line into his side as he twisted and reached to stop the shot from making its mark. The sizzling streak of light buzzed in mid-air like an angry Tatooine rock hornet.

"Allow me to educate you on a finer point," Hux chuckled as he replaced the weapon to its holster on his belt. "I'll use... small words. Snoke wanted your hopelessness. He wanted someone who was easy to pervert - easy to break. He wanted a willing puppet... someone who would... submit." He began to pace the open circle his faithful pack had left him. "You see, he wanted to paint an image. He wanted to reinvent the stigma of repeated history - he wanted to make the galaxy feel as hopeless as he made you. He wanted to cultivate a nightmarish facade - that of a horrifying Sith Lord and his murderous apprentice. He wanted to stoke the dread - the memory - of Order 66. And while you were enjoying your playtime with your masks and your Darth Vader... Snoke was attending budgetary meetings and was sitting with his advisory council. Do you know why?"

Ren felt the heat of his own rage scalding his cheeks. His right arm was bruising as he resisted the pull of those clamped metal fingers, and his left arm was beginning to shake and run out of blood, but he couldn't let go of that wayward shot. He'd rather die. And he had every opportunity to do just so, and from all angles, surrounded as he was by a colorful variety of different cutting and stabbing instruments.

"Do you know what it is Snoke really wanted?" Hux asked again as he stopped pacing. His wicked grin wrenched itself into something that was impossibly even more wolfish. "Look around you..." he giggled maniacally, raising both hands to indicate the ceiling... the walls... the furniture... possibly even the droids.

" _A fleet_ ," Hux ground out through his gnashed teeth. "At least... to begin with. You see, it goes like this." He resumed his pacing, and began listing his points on his counting fingers. "This galaxy's rich and powerful... they wanted a war. Thirty years of peace is ideal for legislators and real estate agents, but can be stagnating for manufacturing and industry. War is much more profitable - for every family it destroys, it feeds at least two more.

"And then, a gift from the Makers... something began stirring in the Unknown Regions. The specter of a vengeful, defeated Empire, and a man with a great ambition... but only tattered dregs for a fleet.

"So they made a deal. And as long as he had you, and you both kept the galaxy in a perpetual state of commercially beneficial fear... Snoke was allowed to have whatever he wanted. So do you understand what I'm trying to tell you, _Ben Solo_?"

Ren blinked as sweat began to sting his eyes. His gaze darted from limb to limb, searching the swarming mass of droids for the saber. One of them had to have it... someone had to have it...

"Why do you think Snoke would ask you to kill your father? To cement your devotion to him? Yes... yes, that's it isn't it. Because he made a promise he would begin a reign of terror. So in return they outfitted him with ships... laboratories and armories... a fully regimented ground artillery. A force strong enough to raze entire planets. The only thing Snoke had to do was be scary, and _kill_. Face it, Ben Solo... You didn't murder your father for some higher, esoteric purpose. You never murdered him to make some... dark pact with the Force, or whatever such nonsense. You never murdered him to fulfill any _destiny_..."

Ren squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn't focus on this now. He braced himself against the impact anyway... curled tightly in on himself as he reached the rocks at the bottom of the waterfall...

"You murdered your father, Ben Solo... for money."

Ren let his jaw tighten. He let his labored breath pass evenly through his flared nostrils. He let the sweat roll down the deep groove of his scar. The hovering beam of lethal energy jumped another inch causing Ali to whimper in alarm, but Ren maintained his grip even as his blood laced the razor edges of the blades at his sides. He would _not_ let go.

And he would _never_ let Hux see him break.

"And with a fleet," Hux continued, "Snoke could finally seek what he _truly_ wanted. But you don't know what that is, do you? He never told you? Tell me - did Snoke ever strike you as the kind of man that would happily make a deal that would mutually benefit someone other than himself?"

To hear that come from Hux's mouth seemed paltry and patronizing. Hux didn't know the half of what sanctity Snoke would desecrate to achieve a goal or a personal gain. Hux had never felt the man's hands on his body... sliding against the skin, gripping a little too hard while extolling the not uncertain terms by which he expected unswerving loyalty...

"No," he heard himself utter with a humiliating hoarse whisper.

"War is a Machine, _Ben Solo_. And Snoke wanted to break the Machine. He never told you of the Engine?"

The "engine." The one on Korriban. Ren never dropped his focus on the blaster shot, but he turned to meet Hux's eyes. His interest was piqued in spite of his better self. The more he knew now, the better his position later.

"The Infinite Engine. Not many know where it comes from. Go on - do your best. Pry it from my mind, do it til my ears bleed, even I don't know. Snoke didn't even know. The Engine comes from a larger whole that is still lost... very likely cold and dead - Snoke was unable to find it.

"But he did find one piece." Hux clasped his hands behind his back and lifted his chin as he resumed pacing. "It had been retrieved centuries ago by some unnamed Sith Lord - he'd found it in an old foundry, where it had been hidden on Nar Shaddaa. It had been studied at the Sith Academy on Korriban, kept under heavy guard until it was eventually forgotten and left dormant.

"Waiting.

"It only needed the spark of the Force to wake it up... thanks in no small part to your little friend there," he pointed with nonchalance at Ali. "It's funny - he collapsed when he touched it - same as you did."

That was it - the ripple... the tremor. The disturbance. The waking of the Infinite Engine. A swell of dark energy so massive it had robbed him of his breath and his consciousness. Even him, a student of the dark side...

"But, of course, that's not the most interesting part. It's what it _does_... That's where the puzzle starts to take shape. Do you see these droids, for instance?" He smacked a couple fingers against his forehead. "Oh, yes, silly me. Of course you do. You have three of them currently attempting to saw you in half. Yes, well, when I found these droids, they were completely inanimate... and there were only three. Three out of a total of nine - the other six were in too great a state of disrepair to be of any use.

"But when I arrived on the Vindicator, while you were busy in your shower or with your meditations or playing silly little Force games with scared young boys, I had only... three. And look at them now."

He held his arms wide as the door to Ali's chamber slid open, and the lights from the corridor outside his own bed chamber grew in intensity. Ren's heart sank in horror as his eyes scanned the panorama - the limitless, surging tide of single-minded droids was seemingly numerous beyond measure.

There was no escape.

He was going to watch a scared little boy die. And then he was going to die. He allowed his training to take over. He pushed down his panic, he pushed down his fury. He pushed down his own hubris and stupidity to a place where he could forge them into something he could use. And he searched Hux's belt for his saber.

"These particular models are an old type of HK droid. They only have one purpose: to shoot, to maim, to immolate, to disembowel. Death is their only protocol. I am capable of producing a number of these that would boggle your mind, _Ben Solo_. The force you see here is but a fraction. And the beauty of it?

"They cost me nothing. No Czerka Arms, no Genetech. No contract with the Exchange Syndicate or the Freebooter's Trade Union or the Hutt Cartel - none of that. Trade is useless to me now, and I no longer have to play by their rules."

He stopped pacing, he stared Ren in the face, and clapped his hands together.

"They told me I needed the Sith. They told me you are the 'opiate of the masses.' They told me this war needed a terrifying mask. But do you know what I think it needs? I think it needs the ability to create literally anything - anything I could possibly ever want or need...

"From next to nothing.

"That's what the Engine does, Ben Solo. It simply... creates. That's what makes it Infinite. The _Infinite Engine_... That's why Snoke wanted it - that's what will break the Machine. And now..."

He lifted his head, and a shadow fell across his face.

"...it's _mine_."

It sounded too good to be true. There had to be a catch. Anything? From... practically nothing? How was that even possible? Could he be lying? If so, where did the droids come from? What sort of deal did he make? And why would he lie? When he knew Ren could so easily sever the truth from the meat of his brain, with great satisfaction?

"So, to summarize, we no longer have need of your services," Hux muttered as he rubbed his hands together and turned to saunter toward the portal to Ali's chambers. In doing so, Ren's worst fear was confirmed - the saber was still nowhere to be found along the length of Hux's belt. "This galaxy learned a hard lesson on how to murder Force users once, long ago. Particularly the capable ones - the ones with training. Do you know how, _Ben Solo_?" He paused in the doorway, placing a parting hand on the frame and glancing back over his shoulder. "Your grandfather knew how. It's so simple. You just have to... outnumber them.

"The only question left is... will you save the boy? Or will you save yourself?"

From there he laughed, twirled a hand in the air, and walked away.

"Kill them both."

Ren didn't wait to watch Hux disappear into the darkness beyond. He acted as fast as he could... knowing what that would entail.

He would _not_ let that boy die. No matter... what it took.

A flick of his hand sent the blaster shot straight into the hellish red eye of the droid holding Ali's right arm. And at that very moment, his choice made, Ren's own screams rose above the sudden flurry of chaos as the first blade punctured his side, slicing effortlessly through the flesh between his ribs. The pain was like a jolt of electricity, and he could feel his lungs begin to pool with blood. He lost sight of Ali as the boy wrenched his left arm free and dropped to the ground - he was small enough to fit into the tight spaces between their feet. They were packed so tightly against each other they had trouble bending to grasp after him. Instead, they resorted to haphazardly firing round after round into the walls, the furniture, the floor - even each other - relying on the laws of averages to work in their favor.

Ren pulled with all of his body weight against the droid that still held his arm, having made peace with his own mortality. The blade that had him impaled penetrated him further as he toppled his assailant into the droids cramming in next to it, managing to free his right hand in the process. A spray of blood splattered his bed and his own face as the blade was pulled free from the wound.

Coursing with adrenaline he growled to mask the pain, siphoning strength from it as he was taught long ago. He concentrated his energy and pulled his arms back, summoning a great wall of Force. With a hungry cry he let loose and pushed with all of his might, flattening the deadly mob before they could press their advantage any further. Quickly Ren got his feet beneath him. His life may well have been forfeit, but he would not leave this world before he knew the boy was safe.

"Rey..." he breathed, clutching his side and reaching for Ali's wrist as he searched that dark corner of his mind for the light beneath the door. The boy clasped hands with his, but turned to fling his other hand behind him and a large, blurry object sailed across the room from the chamber beyond.

It was Ali's jacket. And from within it, something else clattered to the floor. Something shining and black. Like a heavenly chorus, it sang to him.

It was his lightsaber.

Purely out of unconscious reflex, he reached for it and instantly it landed within his waiting palm, flaring to life in a savage burst of light. And with all of the grace, the aplomb, and the discipline of a trained and veteran knight, he spun and brought his formidable saber around. It hacked and sliced through weapons, appendages, and chassis like a hot knife through butter. He ignored the warm, sticky stream of blood soaking into the waist of his pants - he swung the sword in a wide arc, twirling it beautifully behind him before he slashed around again, severing sparking heads and cutting a buzzing, zapping swath through the smoke and destruction. He kept the boy close, he relied on his instincts, and he did his best to protect.

"The fresher," he grunted as the fallen droids were replaced with unspent, waiting models, closing in as fast as they fell. As Ren and Ali retreated, the frenzied crush of firing guns and sawing blades rushed forward, chasing after them and trapping them inside. It took both Ren, Ali, and the Force itself to keep the door from being yanked open.

"Rey..." he wept, collapsing to one knee as his blade hummed beside him, his other hand quivering out in the open air as he begged the Force not to let go of the door. Throbbing, purple veins were engorged in the crook of his elbow and snaking between the knuckles of his hand. He dropped his head and shook his hair out of his eyes, sending droplets of sweat to mingle with the trickle of blood that was starting to circle down the drain.

 _The drain._

Tapping, scraping noises began to emanate from the wall behind them - their enemy had partitioned their number to encompass all sides. They were trying to dig them out.

Dig - yes! Dig their way out!

A portion of the floor between the sink and the drain was a wet wall - it led to the empty ducts that allowed sanitation workers access to the plumbing.

He'd seen it on...

He'd seen it glancing at the blueprints included in General Hux's private store of data.

The data. He... _the data!_ There _was_ a pattern! He hadn't seen it before, but it made sense now. He had to get that data pad off of this ship. He had to get _Ali_ off of this ship. A plan formed in his mind. He passed the hilt of his lightsaber to Ali.

"Boy," he panted, his voice not much more than a sigh, "t-take this. And, and..." he winced and grabbed at his side once his hand was free. "And use it t-to cut a line from," he spluttered and coughed up a clot of blood, "from the drain to the sink. C-cut a big hole. I-I... I think we can get out through there."

Without hesitation, Ali left the door and plunged the blade into the tiles as hard as his scrawny frame would allow. The grout that held the ceramic squares together glowed red and began to crumble - the tiles themselves began to melt under the assault as Ali pumped the sword up and down, cutting, cutting, cutting. Six sets of metal claws pried through a gap in the door - two saw blades followed and the terrifying bangs of a couple of stray gunshots reverberated deafeningly in the confined space. One shot nailed the light above their heads, immersing them in darkness aside from the glow of the lightsaber... and the laser cutter that was starting to make headway on the opposite wall.

"Hurry," he moaned, his eyelids pinched tightly shut. It was everything he could do to ignore the searing sting of the rip in his side, or the blood soaking his thigh.

"There!" Ali cried as a jagged square of floor paneling fell away, revealing a dark chasm underneath. At that moment, the mirror fell with a mighty crash, and a belching flamethrower burst through the wall behind it to let loose its incendiary payload toward the shower.

"JUMP!" Ren yelled at the boy... and then he let go of the door. Not trusting the child to do what he was told, Ren clamped a hand down on his shoulder and promptly shoved him through the hole in the floor.

He turned in time to watch another blade slash down at him from overhead, sinking deep into the meat of his chest near his left shoulder. The blow was strong enough to bring him to his knees. The droid grabbed the hair of his head and twisted his neck back and around, clearly intending to behead him. Before the second blade could find its mark, Ren threw out a hand to pull the datapad off of his bedside table, where it had been left. He used the other to retrieve the saber that Ali was waving around through the hole in the fresher unit floor. He neatly severed the limbs of the droid that had meant to end his life before he stumbled backwards and fell headlong into the waiting embrace of the duct below.

He clamped an arm to his bleeding insides as they crawled a few paces clear of the opening, then Ren reached out and made a fist. All noise and light and clicks and whirs and gunshots and lasers and flames ceased when he used the Force to crumple the shaft behind them, employing the trick Ali himself had coined not long ago to effectively cave them in.

"Y-your saber," Ali whispered. "I saw Hux put it on my desk, after they put you in your bed. I-I... I covered it with my jacket when he wasn't looking... I think when he went to go summon the droids. And then I think he forgot about it..."

Ren could only smile sadly, and ruffle the boy's hair. Good kid, pure kid. Better than him. He deserved better than this... better than him. He deserved to go home.

They sat panting in silence for only a moment before the droids eventually began to start digging their way through the floor. But for only a moment, the quiet rang heavily between them, pounding in their ears like drums. And then Ren began to speak to the wind that lazily wafted down the tunnel, cooling the sweat that dried on their faces.

He searched for the hope he'd abandoned years... oh, so many years ago.

"Rey..." he pleaded. "Rey, please... please, I need your help... Please. He's just a little boy, Rey, please... Please help us... please... Rey..."

* * *

 _Rey..._

She couldn't recall hitting the ground. She barely remembered feeling faint.

 _Rey, please..._

They'd been sitting in orbit over Tython, and she had been enjoying a light meal with Rose and the young Twi'lek girl and two of the other crew. She remembered feeling both astonished and a little dismayed that the Vindicator was nowhere to be seen. But then she'd felt something like a ripple or a tremor pass through her.

 _I need your help... he's just a little boy..._

When she opened her eyes, she was lying on a bunk in one of the crew quarters. As her vision cleared the blob that was hovering over her transformed into the face of Omar Entero, and she could feel both of his hands on either side of her head, turning it over as he examined her and spoke her name.

"Rey... Rey. Snap out of it, girl - here. Come on, open your eyes."

She reached up with both fists and vigorously rubbed her eyes before propping herself on her elbows to sit up.

"Woah, woah, woah - take it easy. Let me get a look at you." He slowly waved a hand back and forth in front of her. "Follow my fingers, left and right. You hit your head on the way down - I just want to make sure you're okay. Don't want to shake anything loose."

"No, we definitely do not want that." In spite of his gruff exterior, as a doctor Rey had to admit Omar did have a pleasant bedside manner.

 _Rey..._

"Yes?"

"Hmm?" He eyed her quizzically. Was she... hearing things?

 _Please... please help us..._

She was not. She swung her legs around and planted her feet on the floor.

"Now wait a minute here- "

She waved off Omar's attempts at protest, and she quickly left the bed. She took two steps to the middle of the room and cocked her head to the side, listening intently.

"Girl, if you end up going blind or something, it's not- "

"SHH!"

 _Rey, please... Please._

Oh, _that_ "please." She'd know _that_ "please" anywhere. Sometimes she still heard that "please" in the dead of night, even while she was sleeping.

"...Ben?"

A flash of blue movement shimmered off to her left. She turned to see Luke, standing and staring at her. His face was stern and drawn tight, wordlessly imparting his urgent message. She knew what he meant to say.

"It's time," she said. "He needs another option."

"He needs a softer landing," Luke replied.

"But - but he's not here... he's not on Tython. Is he? Where is the Vindicator?"

"I don't know - we'll have to see if we can find out."

"Who are you talk- hey!" Omar grumbled at her. "Of all the ungrateful - where are you going?!"

Luke turned and motioned for her to follow, and she swiftly complied. She jogged briskly as he led her out of the crew quarters and out into the main common area, ringing round the holo projector as if it were a utilitarian centerpiece. While Poe, Connix, and Maz were planet-side negotiating a new arms deal, Rose and Finn had been left behind to take stock of their inventory, and begin making a plan for their new and hopefully larger base of operations. That's where Rey found them, heads together at a table in the commons, discussing their bullet points animatedly over a pair of brightly lit datapads.

"Hey!" Finn smiled when he looked up and saw her enter the room. He stood immediately to greet her. "Are you okay? How are you- "

"Shh," she held up a finger to silence him. "Ben?" she called out into the open space. Finn's eyes grew wide as he sat back down, taking Rose's hand to reassure her that, while she was confused, there would be a time for questions and it was definitely later. "Ben, I can hear you, but you're quiet. Can you hear me? Where are you?"

Nothing. She looked helplessly to the ghost of Luke Skywalker but he only cast his eyes to the floor and gravely crossed his arms over his chest. After a moment, he nodded once for her to try again.

"Ben...? Answer me - I'm here. What's happening?"

 _Rey..._

"Ben!" she stared Finn directly in the face as he hung on her every word. He could tell something wasn't right. "I can hear you, but I can't see you. You're so quiet - what's happening? Where are you?"

 _Please help..._

"Ben - where are you! I can't help you if I don't know where you are!"

"Rey..." he sounded clearer now - less like he was across the universe, and more like he was in the next room. "H-he's just a... a little boy, Rey... please..." His voice was pinched and hushed, panicked and pained.

"I can hear you, Ben - do you have Ali? What's happening?"

And then with an explosion of color and sound, she saw him - the clamor of darkness and smoke wrapped around her suddenly, surrounding her as if she'd stepped into another room... one that was on fire. Ali was beside him, crawling on his hands and knees, his face awash in the glow of a datapad he held out in front of him. Ben was lagging behind, slithering like a snake on his elbows. They were... low... they were cramped... they were someplace small, like in a tunnel...

Ali stopped and gasped when Ben hacked a frightful cough - one with enough force to smash him down onto his face. Rey paled with dread when he rose and she could clearly see a long string of spittle and blood drip and hang from his bottom lip.

"Ben," she said, her voice vibrant with concern, "you're hurt..."

"D-don't," he spit once as he got his elbows back underneath him, "don't worry... about me. J-just... just help him."

"Ben - _where are you_?"

"A... a shaft..."

"No, Ben - what planet? Where is the Vindicator?"

"Ohh..." he cried as his face fell again, this time to land heavily on the cushion of his forearm. "You're so far... you'll never make it..."

"We're on Tython, Ben - _where are you_?"

"T-tython...?" He looked up and met her eyes, huge and white with terror - for the first time she noticed how pale he'd become. His lips were turning blue and he was shivering with shock. His eyes welled with tears that streaked through the crust of dirt and soot that coated his cheeks. "We're..." he shook his head, trying to use what little oxygen he had left in his brain to form cohesive thoughts. "Prakith. We're on Prakith."

"Prakith!" Rey shouted with joy to finally have a destination. She clapped her hands together. "We're close, Ben, just hold on, we're- "

"Woah, wait Rey," Finn called from somewhere behind her, his voice sounding distant and dreamlike. "Poe and Maz are still- "

"But what about Ali?" Omar's voice unexpectedly rang out from her left. She guessed he'd followed her from the crew quarters. Never in a million years did she ever think the notably cantankerous doctor would ever become her unwitting ally. "Where does an innocent young boy rate on your list of priorities?"

"We can't just abandon them, Rey," Finn told her.

"So we can just abandon Ali, then?!"

"They have the transport ship," Rey reminded Finn, holding out a hand to calm Omar and snuff his renowned short fuse. "They have everything they need - they have no use for us right now. Omar's right - Ali needs our help."

 _And so does Ben Solo_ , she thought to herself as she made eye contact with Luke... knowing that part was probably best left unspoken.

"Escape..." Ben began, grabbing back her attention as he and Ali both continued crawling, "escape... pod..."

"Esca- yes! Yes! He's going to drop Ali in an escape pod on Prakith - he's getting him off the ship!"

"I'm on it," Omar responded before she heard his stomping footsteps run off toward where she thought the cockpit might lie. "Prakith isn't far!"

"Just _hold on_ , Ben - we're on our way."

"I can't find where we are on this..." Ali cried in frustration as he turned the datapad in his hands over and upside down. "I don't know where we're going..." Wet tears of fright and defeat rolled down his face and dripped from his chin.

"Ben - Ben, you said you're in a shaft, didn't you? Yes?" Rey asked him.

"Y-yes..."

"What _kind_ of shaft? Where did you get in?"

"Fresher unit..." he coughed and rolled sideways, this time colliding with the boy who pushed him back upright. "Sanitation... system."

"Finn!" Rey cried, jumping and waving a hand wildly in the air to find the shoulder of her friend. "Finn! They're in the sanitation system! The sanitation system, Finn!"

"Rey," Finn replied, his voice laced with doubt, "I worked sanitation on the Starkiller - I don't know the first thing about the system on a dreadnought..."

"Finn, you know more than any one of us combined - you have to help!"

"But, but I don't... dammit... alright, I, uhh... let's see, ummm... okay..." he stammered. "Tell him to look up. There should be, uh... there should be some tubes running over his head - o-or some pipes. Something like that. They might be painted a color? Ask him what color they are."

"Pipes over your head, Ben - what color are they?" Rey asked, bouncing on the balls of her feet. She grimaced as she watched him slowly roll onto his back as he looked up. There was no mistaking the trail of blood he was dragging behind him. Curious and a little scared because his mortally injured friend appeared to be talking to thin air, Ali followed his line of sight.

"Pipes... yeah, pipes. Are they... orange?" Ben asked before dabbing his face with his arm.

"No," Ali disagreed, "yellow - they're yellow."

Rey, using their bond through the Force as a touchstone across time and space, turned her face to look up at the pipes as well.

"Ben," she huffed a nervous, silly laugh, "you're colorblind, sweetheart. Those are definitely yellow."

"Okay, that makes sense, if the Vindicator is coded anything like, like... like something like the Starkiller..." Finn stated, tapping the fingers of one hand against the other, feeling a bit more confident. "The Starkiller was divided into quadrants, and they were color coded because it was easy to get turned around in those tunnels after a while, if you weren't paying attention. Just, uh... just tell him to keep following them - it's possible they'll turn green as they start to get mid-ship. Once they turn green, they'll need to stop so we can figure out how to get them to an access port with a ladder."

"A LADDER?!" Ben wheezed in horror, unsurprising given the condition he was in.

"I-I... I don't see... where is the ladder?" Ali squinted at the datapad. "What ladder?"

"Force have mercy," Ben whispered to himself, his voice barely audible and his breath wet and sticky with exertion. "C-catch me... catch me when I fall..." He swallowed thickly and turned back to Ali. "Keep going," he commanded with a strength that felt puny and false.

There was no other choice now. There was no way out but through.

* * *

Kylo Ren was on his feet, but just barely and only through sheer determination. He wavered and staggered as he walked like a drunkard... but he was walking. His senses were on high alert - torqued and pitched as high as the claxon alarms blaring and echoing through the corridors of the Vindicator.

The ones that sang the anthem of Hux's premeditated mutiny.

He used one hand to balance himself against the wall as he made his way, and he used the other to keep his saber held out in front of them, shaking with every stumble or step. Around each bend he expected to be stormed by a squad of Troopers. At least, he hoped it was Troopers. It was more likely now to be droids. Or some barbaric combination.

As if on cue, a thundering rumble of footsteps crept up behind them, nipping at their heels like a pack of wild animals. Ren paused as they entered a long passage that accessed a line escape pods servicing that particular sector of the ship. Hanging on the opposite side was row after row of standard issue safety equipment - emergency signaling beacons, spare oxygen, fire suppressant gear, and inflatable flotation devices in case of a planetary water landing.

"I-in there... hurry," Ren weakly gestured to one of the pods as he dropped to one knee. "No," he said when Ali tried to hand him back the datapad. "Take that. G-give..." he coughed again, leaning on the glass of the pod and leaving behind a red hand print, "give that to her... make sure she gets it. It's important."

"You... you're coming with me," Ali pleaded with him. "You _have_ to come with me... if you don't, you... you'll..."

"Ben, listen to him!" Rey called from somewhere far away. "You get in that escape pod! Don't you _dare_ stay on that ship!"

But Ren knew that Hux wouldn't have put this much effort into their murder if he didn't really, really want them dead. He'd effectively scrimmaged the entire ship, and put them all on high alert. Even now, as he sealed the pod and pressed the release button to launch it into space, a swarm of armored troops converged on his location, weapons drawn, sighted, and firing. If he didn't provide the boy some cover, the tiny little craft that preserved his tiny little life would be obliterated before it even kissed the outer edges of Prakith's wispy stratosphere.

His kneecap twinged painfully, pressed between his weight and the shining, unforgiving metal floor beneath him. The Troopers pressed forward, assaulting him with a fury he nearly couldn't manage with only his saber to deflect their blaster fire. Having no other choice than to become inventive, he used the Force to yank canisters off of the wall - particularly containers of pressurized oxygen. With a quickness that rapidly depleted most of what was left of his own energy reserve, he ducked into the plush, expensive protection that only one of Kuat-Entralla's finest escape pods could offer. He used the cross vents on his saber to super-heat canister after canister of oxygen before he tossed them down the hallway like volatile makeshift bombs.

The ensuing explosions rocked him into the wall of the pod - his teeth clacked together as the emergency sprinkler system outside burst into a torrential downpour. While there was a temporary break in the firefight, he slid out of the pod, his unstable feet hydroplaning in the puddles that were forming in the passageway.

"Rey," he whispered as he limped doggedly ahead, "find him, Rey..."

"Ben!" she yelled his name angrily. "Don't you dare- "

"Find him... save him..."

"BEN SOLO - YOU GET YOUR _ASS_ OFF OF THAT SHIP RIGHT NOW, DO YOU HEAR ME?!"

He did hear her. Loud and clear. And in spite of his better self... perhaps because his sense of humor was customarily dark and fatalistic... he smiled. The last person who cared enough about him to get that angry was his mother. Long ago, when he was still Ali's age. He couldn't remember what he'd done to deserve such loving wrath...

It didn't matter. Nothing else mattered. He had to get to the Silencer. He had to draw their fire... draw it away. And then, when the boy was safely in her arms... Ren could finally be at peace.

He could finally die.

He hoped his mother would forgive him when he saw her. He hoped she still loved him.

"Don't stop, Ben," another voice sang to him, encouraging him. It was Luke - the image of his uncle lit his periphery where the sanguine haze of red was beginning to fade into black. It was almost as if he sensed his thoughts. Almost as if he knew the need. "Don't give up. You're almost there.

"Trust in the Force, Ben."

His uncle's ghost walked beside him, his arm reaching out to him and offering him a desperate, divine gift of Force - a gift of strength. A life raft to cling to.

"It will catch you when you fall."

He couldn't feel his face anymore. He couldn't fill his lungs with air. His legs were weak and the synapses that operated them were starting to get confused. He wanted to throw up. He wanted to cry. He wanted to live. There were so many things he still wanted to do... wanted to say...

"Ben, please..." it was her. The girl. Rey. He wanted to touch her hand... wanted to touch her face... He wanted her to know him, in the secret ways that only a woman could know a man.

Where was the future they were promised?

"Tell him..." he cried to her, the blood rattling in his throat with every breath, "... tell Ali... that I'm sorry."

"Ben - don't you dare make me come up there and get you!"

"Don't..." he told her, a warning, "... don't take the shuttle... they'll... they'll shoot you..."

"Who?"

"...find him Rey... take him- "

"Not one more step!" Commander Belloth's voice boomed from where he stood, behind the relative security of his wall of Troopers, where he mistakenly believed he was safe. Two tiers of nervous, plasteel-plated men stood stacked behind each other, anxiously awaiting the orders that would pit one commanding officer against the other.

"FIRE!" was the last word Belloth ever spoke. Ren punched the air with his left fist and the Commander's wide and wormy-lipped face snapped around at a bad angle. His eyes bulged out of their sockets before his cheeks turned red and purple. As his lifeless body crumpled to the floor, the squad he left in formation had no other choice but to defend themselves. They opened fire.

Ren did his best to parry their volley of screaming shots and send them bouncing away into the walls and ceiling, but ended up taking one to his left thigh and another to his right shoulder which flattened him onto his back. Before he could take another wound to his gut, Ren extinguished his saber and rolled onto his shoulder. He threw a hand toward the hangar and out of nowhere a massive TIE fighter barreled its way across the bay, mowing down every last man where he stood before it rammed into a pair of its brethren, colliding in a noisy, violent ball of flame.

When the smoke cleared and debris settled, he could see it there, glistening proudly and handsomely across the hangar bay.

The Silencer. And with it, his last-ditch attempt at a play for freedom.

* * *

"Find him, Rey..." she could still hear him through the madness of noise and chaos that blasted between her ears. "Save him..."

She sat hunched over, her head between her hands, sinking heavily into a seat on the Twilight Zephyr as it lurched out of their stolen freighter and coasted across a choppy thermal wind skating over Prakith's rocky, mountainous terrain.

"That way!" Finn pointed, following the frequency of Ali's signaling beacon as it pinged a receiver on the display panel. "There's not a lot of level ground, but there's some caverns near his trajectory. If we could- "

Finn was interrupted by a sudden roar of static erupting from the transponder.

"Foreign vehicle!" a firm voice called out, cutting through the bedlam. "This is the Prak City Port Authority. This planet is currently under Zero Entry Alert - you have broken this atmosphere illegally and without proper validation." This likely had something to do with the Vindicator skulking around in orbit like an intimidating playground bully. "Please return to your craft of origin and- "

"I don't think so," Omar pounded a fist down onto the transponder controls to bring the admonishment to an abrupt end, "but now we're gonna have to be super quick about this."

Not taking kindly to folks who don't abide by rules, it wasn't long before they were met by the dark shapes of the Port Authority forming on the horizon. What Prak City didn't know was that the Zephyr was a wind catamaran, and was by far and away the more agile machine out of all of them. Chewbacca stood and drew his bowcaster, ready and willing to do what it took to keep their path free and clear. Finn was more reticent but drew his blaster anyway, only wishing to be ready for whatever ended up happening. Omar lowered the Zephyr and began to weave her between the jagged spires of eroded volcanic rock that comprised the bulk of Prakith's more interesting features.

Rey twisted her head up and around as she watched the ships of the Port Authority zip past overhead... but it was quickly evident they hadn't arrived to chase _them_. They already had their prey in their sights - a full squadron of TIE fighers in classic delta formation. Chewie lowered his bowcaster and growled as the entire retinue disappeared behind a peak in the landscape.

"There!" Finn cried and jabbed a pointing finger out in front of them before reaching for a pair of macrobinoculars. In the distance something glittered in the sunlight - an object resting on a ledge that ringed a high, rust-colored plateau. It was small and it was the right shape. Finn double checked the display. "It looks like that could be it." The high, airy whistles of jet engines still pealed through the air all around them, and the plateau was horribly exposed. This was going to get violent...

And the Zephyr, for all of her maneuverability, had no guns.

"This is why he didn't want us to take the shuttle..." Rey murmured to herself.

"Huh?" Finn asked.

"Ben. He told me not to take the shuttle. Prak City is trying to shut out the First Order."

"Makes sense," Omar replied, dipping and bobbing the controls as he kept one eye glued to the sky. "Prakith is another world whose sole economy is based on their mining operations. The Miner's Guild doesn't sound too happy with the Order right about now."

"We were in a freighter..." Finn sighed, palming his forehead. "Why didn't we just tell them that we're, gee, I dunno, picking up freight? This is why people keep shooting at us..."

"Y'know, bud, yer negativity isn't helping us much right now."

" _My_ negativity? That's so funny coming from- "

"WOAH!"

Omar tipped the Zephyr wildly as a huge black blur tore across their nose, nearly making contact and smashing them to bits. The thing corkscrewed and spiraled away between a pair of ruddy granite pillars before the full procession of First Order and Port Authority ships ripped through the air behind it in hot pursuit.

"This might work out," Omar said, opting to conceal their movements by dropping a bit further into the shadow of the valley below. Rey suppressed a chill from the slight change in temperature. "I'm just going to pull us up to that ridge," Omar continued. "We'll grab Ali and jet on out of here, low and slow. Those ships are too bulky and too full of torque to get out of these low points with their wings intact, and with any luck, by the time they're finished fooling around with each other, we'll be long gone."

"Ben," Rey whispered quietly to herself. "Where are you...?"

Wait. Rey had seen that huge black blur tear across her nose before. Was that...?

When they reached the vantage point of the plateau Rey had a full view of the sky. She stood with her knees bent and her hands to her eyes as she scanned the horizon, letting the Zephyr jostle around beneath her feet while they hovered in mid-air next to the creaking and cooling form of Ali's escape pod. The outer fuselage was still hot from atmospheric entry, fizzing hot bubbles of condensation that formed when the cooler air from within the pod hissed and leaked out over its surface. Once the seals had popped, the hatch swung open on its own accord and Omar yanked the boy straight into his strong, eager arms.

"Oh, kid," his deep voice rumbled into Ali's hair as he pulled him into a tight embrace. "We've got ya now, we've got ya. Let's go."

"Wait," Rey pleaded, searching every inch of the wide open sky. "Just... we can't go yet."

"Are you crazy?! What is wrong with you? You know what? That's it! I've had just about enough of your insanity!"

"We can't leave him," Ali pulled his face away from Omar's shoulder and begged. "Please - he's hurt. You're a doctor. He needs your help!"

"Okay, now wait a minute, wait... please tell me we're not talking about who I think we're talking about..."

"You're a doctor, Omar..." Rey repeated, appealing to his sense of honor and duty as a healer.

"We have no weapons! What do you think is gonna happen once they shoot him down?!"

"Do we even have a functioning med bay?" Finn chimed in with an attempt at a voice of reason.

"Of course we do," Omar was forced to admit, using his fingers and his thumb to rub his eyes. "That freighter belonged to slave traders and pirates. They can't just roll up to a hospital - taking care of themselves out in open space was a matter of life and death."

"Omar," Rey addressed the man directly, placing Ali with Chewbacca before she gripped him by his shoulders. She stared into his eyes and speared him where he stood. "War means defining the line between which risk is acceptable and which one isn't. There's a man up there, and he's hurt. And you're a doctor - he needs you."

"But- "

She gave his shoulders one good solid shake.

"I know you hate him. This whole galaxy hates him. But we're here now. _You're_ here now, and _he_ needs you."

"I..."

"Please. Just this once, please. I'm asking you to trust me. I'm asking you to trust in the Force. Please... help me save him."

"I want to ask you why," the man sighed and slumped, "...but we both know I can't do that. I took an oath." He looked to Ali for affirmation. "Do you hate him, kid?"

"He just wants to go home," Ali answered, sniffling from beneath the hanging hair of Chewbacca's heavy paw.

"Well..." Omar rubbed the back of his neck. "Stars' sake... Fine. FINE. I will perform my stars forsaken duty, then... kriff. But if we all end up dead- "

"Trust in the Force," Rey repeated as she took the controls from him, and brought the Twilight Zephyr up to the flat top of the plateau. She stepped out and stood with both boots firm in the dirt. She cast her eyes, hard as steel, to the bowl of the sky with both hands ready at her sides. The wind brushed her hair about her shoulders and tugged at the legs of her pants as she stood resolute... and watching.

Waiting.

And then the Silencer crested the ridge. It shot up straight as an arrow, piercing the heavens as it raced for the sun. A flock of angry ships clawed through the air after it, raining down a deluge of gun fire, targeting each other as much as they were Ben Solo.

"There's no way he can pull a move like that in atmo," Finn muttered having appeared at her side. Her eyes remained locked onto the vicious, speeding horde as they hurtled headlong toward dizzying altitudes. "Not even the Silencer can handle it - he'll stall if he doesn't lose consciousness first from the G-force..."

"Or the blood loss," she said, her insides tight with worry. She reached out and clamped a hand down on her friend's wrist when his somber prediction came true. The Silencer tilted oddly at the peak of its climb before it faltered and tumbled to plummet out of the sky. On its descent, it reached a velocity that pushed a bow of compressed vapor beneath it in a lovely and frightening arc.

That rate of speed was unsurvivable.

"NO!" Rey cried as she ran toward the point of impact. "Cover me!"

Weapons high, Chewbacca and Finn followed her reluctantly as they watched the fighters of the First Order circle around to take advantage of Ben's obviously lapsed state. Rey watched shots from Chewie's bowcaster streak past her face, eager to plunge themselves deep into the black metal plating of their hulls. She felt an irrational rush of fury and hunger surge through her and, emboldened, she called upon the greater power of the Force.

She squared her shoulders and she rooted her feet. She summoned a feral strength from within, one she never knew existed. It dug its way out of her from inside the cocoon of her rage. From her lips she screamed a ferocious battle cry, and she raked her fingers through the air. One by one she pulled those ships from the sky and dashed them to their doom. Sharp slivers of metal and smoking pieces of shrapnel flew in every direction as they cartwheeled and crashed all over the rocks of Prakith.

* * *

Ren had managed to right the Silencer, but he was bringing her in too fast and at a bad angle. Alarms were bleating insistently and warning lights vying for his attention.

 _Trust in the Force._

His left arm had completely stopped working. His eyes were too blurry to see. And though the gunshot wound in his shoulder burned with the crisp char of molten flesh, his right arm was all he had left. He used it to wind himself around his flight controls and anchor his body in place for the duration.

It was time. He was done.

 _Let it guide you._

He lined up with the horizon as best he could manage. He pulled with the elbow he had locked around the flight controls to try to lift the nose of the craft - to try to allow natural friction to slow his rate of speed... but it didn't matter. Ali was safe. He'd done all he could do.

Maybe, if he was lucky, it would be over quick.

 _Let it help you._

When the Silencer hit the ground he smashed head first into his canopy. His entire reality burst from black to white. He was temporarily stunned, blind and deaf - the only thing he knew was pain. And wind. And then there were shouts... and gunfire.

"Ben!"

And _her_.

He was shocked out of his blindness when his body fell out of the cockpit and landed in the dirt, but his vision was nothing more than a churning sea of rusty red and flashing halos.

"This is the Port Authority, you are under arrest! Everybody just get down, just _stay_ down, and - hey!"

"Troopers, Rey! There's Troopers! We can't hold them all off! You've got to grab him and go!"

For a moment he was able to coerce his eyes into focusing. The Turncoat Trooper, who called himself Finn, had his weapon lined up on his former brothers in arms. Chewbacca was breaking countless peace-time intergalactic laws by firing his fearsome bowcaster at the feet of the Port Authority. And then there was Rey. Her blaster was drawn but held low and reserved for self-defense. She threw caution to the wind and ran toward him.

"Don't stop! I'm coming!"

There were blaster shots pelting the dirt all around him, coating him in a loose sheen of sand and small pebbles. His right arm was broken in the crash, and a fractured piece of collarbone was tearing an open wound through the skin of his neck. His body was numb and cold like a paralyzed block of ice. So he did the only thing he could do.

He crawled. One elbow in front of the other, he dragged the dead weight of his useless, mutilated body behind him and he crawled.

 _Trust in the Force._

He cried out with every inch. Every ounce of his pride had bled away through the tears in his eyes and the holes of his gaping, open wounds.

 _Let it guide you._

His uncle's words were the only things that kept him moving. That and the promise of her warm and waiting arms. The promise of the future they once saw together.

"I'm here, I've got you!"

His eyes met hers in terror. He was a dead man surrounded by enemies.

 _Let it help you._

Her eyes met his in victory. She wasn't leaving here without him.

And when he was close enough he could smell her - smell the wind in her hair, the earth caked in her boots, the smoke and the sweat of combat and adrenaline - he collapsed into the soft cradle of her body.

 _It will catch you when you fall._

"I've got you, you're alright now," was all he could hear. He twisted his hands into her jacket. His own breath was hot against the smooth length of her thigh. Her fingers passed through the black, blood-soaked mats of his hair. And he wept with transcendental bliss as her words sang to him the sweetest lullaby he'd ever heard.

"It's alright now.

"You're okay.

His eyes drifted shut and he began to fade away.

"I've got you, now. It's okay.

"You're alright.

"It's okay.

"You're okay.

"You're okay.


	13. Ch 13: The Fight

**Chapter Thirteen: The Fight**

 _You're alright now._

Rey. Her skin was a silken bandage that held him and healed him as it bound him tightly to her. Her warmth - her smell - was a breath of life. Her voice was the silver thread he clung to, his only means to escape the pull of death's seductive invitation.

 _... thump thump..._

 _I've got you._

The song she sang as she held him close followed the slow, deliberate rhythm of his own heartbeat. And though her grip around his body tightened to the point of sharp, bright white pain, he could feel its cadence slowing.

 _... thump thump..._

 _You're okay._

But when the pain reached a pitch that was suffocating and he felt himself gasping for air, Kylo Ren opened his eyes out of reflex. His vision immediately spun with a kaleidoscope of chaos and movement that whirled all around him. He still could hear nothing but the drum of his own blood in his ears.

 _... thump thump..._

And her voice.

 _It's going to be okay._

For a brief moment, when he blinked, he looked around and found her nowhere.

"Hold still!" an unfamiliar voice called out near his chest. Dusty puffs of dirt and sand fluttered in the air all around him. Floating granules of silica, in slow motion, caught the low radiance of sunlight with their tiny prismatic bodies and mesmerized him with their little shows of color. "Chewie! Hold him - right here! Finn - get his legs up!"

"But they're too close! I am NOT getting shot in the ass for this guy!"

"Just do it, dammit! Do you wanna get outta here or not?!"

 _... thump thump..._

Something soft and sticky was clotting in his throat - it gurgled and bubbled when he tried to breathe. It tickled and made him gag. He hacked a huge, painful cough that split his sides in two, and something warm and wet spilled out of his mouth and coated his face. It ran into his eyes and when he blinked again, everything he saw turned red.

"He's not going to make it..." someone whispered.

Overhead a giant, roaring shadow blotted the sun and darkened the sky as it careened away into the distance.

"There she goes. She'll draw 'em off. Let's go - move move move!"

And from there, the red faded back to black.

 _... thump thump..._

 _No, no! You're still holding on - let go!_

His own voice rang back to him across the dismal, lonely void - the purgatory of his mind where he hung from the precipice overlooking the divide between life and death. The rocks at the bottom greeted him like trustworthy friends, beckoning with open arms.

 _No_ , called another voice. _Don't let go!_

 _... thump... thump..._

Why shouldn't he? What was left for him? Where could he possibly ever go? Who could he possibly ever be? Now, after everything? Who would ever want him?

Who would ever love him?

Everyone in the galaxy, from its loftiest heroes to its lowest denizens, wanted the trophy of his dead hide - at least he had this choice. At least this death had meaning.

 _... thump... thump..._

 _What do you want?_

He... wanted to know why this was coming up now...? Why couldn't his own death even be peaceful? There. He wanted a peaceful death. That was one thing that was definitely true.

And he wanted one person to remember him fondly. He wanted someone to say that they at least would try to understand him and all that he did. He wanted to know that the saga of the Sith and the Jedi was over - that this was at least one mark he was able to leave on the galaxy. He wanted to know that there was a future that was ready to step beyond the shackles of a more ignorant past.

He wanted to finish what his grandfather started.

 _...thump... thump..._

 _Let the past die... kill it... if you have to._

 _No_ , the soft voice that was not his own cried out to him again. _Hold on... don't let go._

Phantom fingers reached out from the enveloping black and touched him gently on his face, following the tilt of his cheekbones to brush over the place where his hair met his temples.

 _Don't abandon us_. He knew that voice... it was little more than the whisper of a light breeze, but he knew it. _Don't abandon your past. Learn from it. And forgive it_.

 _... thump... thump..._

Those soft fingers threaded through his hair, combing it back away from his face. He leaned into the touch, grateful for contact that didn't cause him pain, and looked up into the dove grey face of his mother as she loomed above him as if his head was in her lap. The same way she'd held him when he was little... when he was sick or hurting.

 _... thump... thump..._

"M-mom..." His hands curled around her wrists. He clung to her with a sudden, sentimental wave of grief that threatened to overtake him and dash him against those rocks. "Mom... I... I'm sorry... please, I- "

"Don't let go," Leia Organa asked of her son as she accepted the strength of his grip and stroked the silk of his hair. "Just hold on. You've gotta fight, baby. It's not your time yet."

 _... thump... thump..._

"Mom... I love you, please... I'm sorry, I- "

"Forgive me, my brave little starfighter," she begged, the lines at the corners of her eyes crinkling as she turned her lips into a melancholy, half-hearted smile. She ran a cool, tingling thumb across his forehead. "And forgive yourself." Slowly she began to disappear until her touch no longer lingered, and she sank back into the hidden, ghostly realm to which she now belonged.

 _...thump... thump..._

"Tell me you love me back, dammit!" he cried after her, the flare of anger so strong it rocketed him back into reality, plunging him deep into a raucous maelstrom of wind, noise, and pain.

"Pressure!" cried the voice at his chest again. "Pressure right here - and hold him still! For the love of the Holy Maker, do _not_ let him get his hands free again! I don't need another patient right now!"

 _...thump... thump..._

There were other voices, but they were drowned by an indistinct roaring, sourced from either an animal, an engine, the wind, or some likely combination of all three. His body was rocking wildly from side to side as a torrent of blue and blurs of brown raced past through the sky above him. Something inside him tugged unnaturally and he flushed with panic, fearing that maybe an important internal organ was trying to squirm its way through the gaping rift in his flesh.

"N-no..." something cried weakly. He wasn't sure he knew the voice, but there was a chance it was his own.

 _...thump... thump..._

"Dammit! I - look, I know it's hard, okay? I know. He's strong. But you've _got_ to keep a hold of his arms. We all know who this is, there's no telling what he might do, and we're almost there!"

His attention was drawn suddenly to his hands, which he could now feel were restrained over his head. Without thinking he instinctively pulled against his captor and felt the broken bones in his right arm crunch and grind into each other, needling the meat of his muscle with sheared fragments. Images of cold metallic claws with blades and saws and guns and flamethrowers and laser-sighted missile launchers flashed through his mind.

He screamed as he twisted away, and the hands that held him clamped down even tighter.

 _...thump... thump..._

 _Don't let go. Hold on, baby. It's not your time yet._

"Would you knock it off?" the dark blob above him complained. "Doc, wouldn't it be easier if we just knocked him back out?"

"The more he fights me, the more I know he's still alive. And I took a stupid, dumbass, stars' forsaken oath. Ali, here. I need you to _really_ push, boy - gotta keep the pressure on this bleeding until we get back to the ship."

 _...thump... thump..._

Ali.

Kylo Ren winced and growled when something that felt like sand and gravel was poured into the stab wound in his chest. He squeezed his eyes shut but opened them quickly to find the boy Ali doing his best to smother the wound with a rough strip of dingy cloth. The boy's shoulders were crammed into his neck as he pressed against him with all of his body weight. His face was red with exertion and he was crying.

"Please don't die," the boy wept. "You have to be strong. You promised to teach me..." He rubbed his nose against his own arm. "You promised to take me home, y-you... you _promised_."

He tried so hard... tried to keep his promises. Tried to keep his strength. But it was leaking out of him with every drop of blood that splattered the floor beneath him... wherever he was. He tried to conjure words of reassurance or consolation, but his brain was losing its ability to make sense. And the darkness rose to claim him once more.

 _...thump... thump..._

 _Draw your strength from your pain, young Solo. Your legacy commands it._

From his toes to his chest he was blanketed in a soft, rolling cloud of icy chill. Tendrils of hard, bitter freeze snaked up his skin like twisting vines and fingers.

 _You will be forged in steel by your own pain._

 _...th-thump... . . . thump..._

 _The pain was something he could endure_. The ice raked its claws up his legs, gouging grooves across his thighs as it gored his belly and slid into his wounds like glacial melt.

 _The pain was something he could conquer, something he could overcome_. His feet were frozen blocks, leaving him vulnerable with no means for escape. His hands were numb and useless, the cold shocking him with every attempt to reach and touch and grasp.

 _...th-thump... . . . thump..._

 _It was a goal he could achieve_. And then there was his throat. He was drowning in something that tasted like metal - the only breath he could draw came in heaves and gasps and coughs. And those icy fingers lovingly, sickeningly, gently traced the lines of his chest before clutching his struggling heart.

 _...th-thump... . . . thump..._

They smoothed their frigid palms across his shoulders and closed with unyielding menace around his beleaguered throat.

 _You're so quick to abandon your training, young Solo. Everything I taught you... everything I prepared you for..._

His stomach churned and he tried to roll away, crawl away... limp... away... but the specter would not be eluded. He couldn't move a body he could no longer feel, and he was helpless to ignore the vision of Snoke as he swam into his view. The vision with his hands around his neck.

 _... th-thump... . . . thump..._

"N-no..." he whimpered as he began to see stars all around him and he started to lose feeling in his lips. His brain was starving to death... it was giving up.

"You're no Darth Vader." The ghoulish face of his own personal lifelong nightmare hovered inches from his eyes, so close he could feel the moist, rancid stench of his breath billow against his cheeks the same way he had so many times before. Something burning and wet was squeezed into the back of his mouth as the devil's grip grew tighter. "You're just a child in a mask."

 _... th-thump... . . . thump..._

He was too weak to fight. He tried so hard to hold on but he'd been bested by the cold, biting, unrelenting fingers that strangled the life from him and robbed him of his final breaths. His heart was done. His brain was done. His pain was done. Air was now a memory.

"I'm sorry... dad..." he choked. "You were right... I- "

He was stunned awake by a blazing, fresh new pain like a brand new stab wound had just been jabbed between his ribs. Surprisingly, the pressure clogging his airway drained away like water from behind a broken dam, and he drew a rattling, heaving breath as he opened his eyes.

 _... th-thump... . . . thump..._

"Stop fighting, dammit!" someone yelled at him. "Chewie, quick - he's panicking. Get him on the hovercart."

Through his red-lined tunnel vision, he saw the twin spires of the command shuttle's wings towering over him to his left before he experienced a brief sensation of weightlessness. There were noises... so many noises. The sound of his own teeth chattering as he shivered, the sound of Chewie rumbling, the sounds of voices shouting, the sounds of objects crashing into each other and all around. It was incoherent mayhem. And through it all was his own slow but dogged heartbeat.

 _...th-thump... . . . thump..._

"Ali! Do me a favor, boy, and run up and get a thermal blanket from the storage unit. Go quick! Now, _look_ ," the voice at his shoulder commanded him as he shook him to get his attention. "Stop! Fighting! Me!" He didn't recognize the man, except... except he _did_... from somewhere... where was it? He was so confused. The man leaned over him and fully eclipsed his sight. "I intubated you to get the fluid off your lungs so you can breathe! You can thank me by putting down that fuel canister, yeah?!" Fuel... canister? What fuel canister? "You scare yourself into cardiac arrest, I might not be able to save you so calm down and stop freaking out! Force users, I swear... Finn! Where's that spare O2 I asked for?"

"Here! Here!"

"Get us moving! Go, go! You - Rey! Gimme a hand with this!"

 _...th-thump... . . . thump..._

And then... there she was. In the background he heard the clanks and clatters of things hitting the floor, and another empty metal something rolled away across the deck. The ceiling above him moved at a harried, frenzied pace, but through it all... she was there.

"It's alright," she told him, using one hand to smooth the hair away from his face as she ran alongside him. She used the other to place a small, clear mask over his nose and mouth. "You're alright now. Just breathe, okay? Just breathe. You're okay." Her soft, sweet hazel eyes never left his. And for a second he entertained the thought of believing her... trusting her.

 _...th-thump... . . . thump..._

What she'd administered was pure oxygen - it was as cool and sweet as her fingertips on his skin, and hit his laboring brain with a rush. With his nerve cells slowly rejuvenating, his body seized and contorted with a burning contraction of pain. He arched his spine and writhed, grinding his heels into the hovercart before he drew up his knees to curl in on himself, moaning with agony.

"Hold him _still_ , dammit - he's no good if he's on the stars forsaken floor!"

"Take my hand, Ben," she called to him more urgently, jogging to keep up the pace. He turned to her at the sound of his own name, but it took a few moments for the rest of her words to make sense. "Ben... take my hand."

 _...th-thump... . . . thump..._

Without waiting for him to respond, one insistent hand of hers slipped firmly into his left, the one that belonged to his unbroken arm. She gave his fingers a light squeeze.

"Just hold on, alright?" she commanded him. "Just _hold on_. Don't let go."

 _You've gotta fight, baby. It's not your time yet._

 _...th-thump... . . . thump..._

He needed the fight. It was fight or die. It was the only thing left that was _his_. He had to find the strength somehow, he had to summon it from somewhere, if not from the pain. Could he summon it from her hand in his? Could he find it hiding in her eyes? Because there was nowhere left to look. There was nowhere left for him that wasn't behind enemy lines. He was surrounded by his adversaries, even the very ones attempting to save his life. Even this girl, who had shown him unequivocally that she was willing to take risks to offer him her narrow-minded view of "safety," - she still would not hesitate to slice up his soft bits if he ended up doing something stupid.

So there was no such thing as safety... there was no destiny, there was no home... there was no reason... there was no family, no belonging - there was nothing but fear and loneliness. Maybe the fight wasn't worth it. Maybe it would just be easier if... just be _better_ if he... if he just...

 _...th... . . ._

"Ben... Ben your hand is slipping, sweetheart."

He was just so tired... tired of fear, solitude, pain... he just wanted to close his eyes...

"Kriff, he's in arrest - hoist him up, get him up - NOW NOW!"

"Ben - you have to fight!"

"Chewie, grab the defib off the wall. And where's that BB droid?! I need him!"

"Ben?!"

Her voice was only an echo. He was floating like a cloud, careless and weightless... everything else was beneath him now... stars, it felt so good to finally be so free...

"Get her out - now! I need everyone clear! Everyone clear! I'm gonna shock 'im in three... two... one..."

Out of nowhere, everything was blasted white - pure, blinding, electric white... before it faded to a staticky, deafening grey... that eventually fell away to silent, endless black.

* * *

Calm.

It was the first time since leaving Arturo 24 that Rey truly believed she could say she felt calm. It didn't mean she wasn't just a little bit apprehensive about how she was going to explain this to Poe when he got back to the ship... but for now, she was utterly at peace.

It wasn't just because the silver thread that bound them thrummed with the shallow pulse of his every fragile heartbeat. It wasn't just because she could follow the long, sloping line of his bare chest and abdomen in the low light from the corridor, and watch it rise and fall gently with each steady breath. It wasn't even the errant strand of black hair that dangled across his face, a lazy pendulum that swung with every puff of air that passed through his parted lips.

It was Han Solo. It was General Leia Organa. It was the promise they made each other that they could never keep. Rey may not have brought him home... but he was one step closer.

He was out.

And if there was one thing she'd learned since leaving behind her childhood, her innocence, and her illusions on Jakku, it was to celebrate her victories while she could in a time of war.

So she decided to live in the present and enjoy a moment's peace while standing outside his new prison cell - the ship captain's bedchamber, where he'd been taken from the med bay to recover. It was a convenient place to police him being that the quarters opened out onto the main commons and boasted its own 'fresher unit, minimizing the need to bring down the bronzey, buzzing energy barrier that shimmered between them, casting him in its soft, golden glow. The barrier was emitted by a small, foot-operated apparatus, supplied by one of the few ladies of the crew that had chosen to remain on board. Many had decided to make landfall on Tython with Poe, Maz, and Connix, aiming to reconnect with lost family or loved ones, and start the long journey either home or toward a new chapter in life. Even Omar's young Twi'lek girl had departed with them, happy again to be back among her own people. The rest merely knew no life on land - the ship was their home and the stars their only family, and they were content to stay and make themselves useful the best way they knew how.

It didn't stop the woman who'd placed the barrier from kicking it to life with perhaps a touch more force than was strictly necessary. Rey didn't need to ask why - she'd replaced her naivety with a growing and vibrant imagination.

But now was the time, in the late-night quiet in which only the barrier's thin hum could be heard outside of a droning instrument panel from the cockpit, when Rey thought she could finally catch her breath and relive the moments of the day... compartmentalize them, analyze them, learn from them, and perhaps even enjoy a few of them.

The Silencer had been too valuable an asset to leave behind and languish forgotten on the rocky soil of Prakith. If the craft had still been able to fly after her somewhat... rough landing, then she would've been best served providing cover fire for their hasty retreat. Taken to the air, however, her interest as a high profile target had been renewed - she'd garnered perhaps even as much interest as the fleeing Twilight Zephyr, which at the time had carried not only the sum total of persons who had trespassed illegally on Prakith's surface, but also the failing body of the First Order's fallen Supreme Leader.

And with Poe on Tython and Ben Solo left incapacitated, the best pilot they'd had available was... Rey. So, reluctantly, she had left Ben's side and entrusted Omar Entero to practice his art.

Even now the image of the cockpit's interior refused to leave her mind. It had been a horror scene. His blood had coated every available surface - it'd splattered the floor, it'd decorated the instrument panel, it'd pooled in the seat... there had even been a big, sticky red splotch stuck to the cracked canopy that still held within it a few strands of leftover black hair. That explained the swelling of his face and the blackening of his eyes... Still surging with adrenaline, she'd managed to find the fortitude to look past the gore and focus on the task at hand.

Getting the fighter jet airborne had been nothing short of a miracle. Between the crash landing and the fact that she'd disabled the greater bulk of his flight console the last time they'd seen each other, it was amazing she'd made it ten feet. But through the power of luck and skill, and the Force that bound her to him, she'd coerced the ship into limping its way through the maze of needle-like pillars and towers of stone that separated her from the relative safety of their pirated pirate ship, praying to the great Holy Maker the entire way that the glass of the canopy would just... keep... holding... together...

She remembered briefly taking a moment to cough as smoke and fumes had begun to fill the cockpit. She'd turned her head and caught the movement of the Zephyr far down below, a tiny glimmer hiding in the shadow she'd cast over them in the canyon. She'd tried not to imagine his body lying lifeless just there, beneath her, as she'd sped overhead unaware. Instead, she'd given him the fighting chance he'd needed by twisting away and drawing their pursuers with her, cursing him for his mysterious ability to pilot this mess with no guidance and a fraction of the necessary HUD.

The last thing she'd expected to see as she'd swung the Silencer a bit haphazardly into their docking bay was a massive, hand-held rocket launcher leveled directly at her face.

"Rose!" she'd screamed as quickly and as loudly as she could, hoping she could be better heard through the cracks that spider-webbed the canopy. "It's me! Don't shoot!"

"What in the... " Rose had let the sentence hang as she'd watched her friend drop from the cockpit of their deadliest enemy's personal TIE fighter. Thuds and bangs had boomed all around them as enemy gunfire pitted the outside plating of their hull.

"No time to explain," was all Rey could make out before the Zephyr had slid wildly into the bay, squeezing tightly into the narrow gap between the two strangely juxtaposed First Order vehicles. After that the bay had further erupted into chaos.

"Is... is that...?"

"Rose - can you fly us? Can you get us out of here?!"

"I'm on it!"

The girl, a virtual paragon of duty, had run without looking back, even when the screaming had begun. Rey had never heard a man scream like that. Even now as she gazed at him, cozy in his new confines so silent and so still, she could scarcely believe that sound had come from somewhere within him. It had been the pinched and throaty, asthmatic sort of wail that was worse than excruciating pain... she'd recognized the tone as surely as it had laced its way through the Force.

It had been fear. Paralyzing fear - fear of something worse than his own mortality.

A fear that had gripped him so fiercely and so strong that he'd abandoned all sense and reason. It'd been unmistakably the fear of a cornered and wounded animal - an instinct so visceral and primordial he'd been helpless to wrangle it under control. All rationality had drowned in it. With all of his power and all of his strength, he'd fought everything that dared to move.

And he used the Force.

It had taken two fully grown men and an adult male Wookiee to subdue him. Crates of supplies had been sent flying. Grosses of ration bars had sailed everywhere in swarms. Fuel canisters, arc spanners, spare capacitors, spools of wiring - even the Silencer herself had bumped into the neighboring command shuttle with a loud clang. He'd flung everything within his reach in his attempt to free himself from whatever nightmare his dying brain had been forcing upon him. He'd only snapped out of it when she'd taken his hand and given him oxygen. She still wasn't sure which one had done the trick, or if it had been some combination of the two, but stars alive she was glad something had.

Twelve hours had gone by since Omar had resuscitated him from full cardiac arrest. In that time they'd made their way back to Tython, to hover innocuously and hopefully unnoticed near the planet's larger moon, Ashla. Rey had tried to spend part of that time getting some much needed sleep for herself, but she'd only ended up staring at the ceiling, unable to rid her mind of his purpled face, his trembling blue lips, his blood-stained teeth, his waxy yellow skin... and his glassy, dry eyes as he stared into her, searching for the hope she embodied as he clung to her hand.

So now she found peace as she watched him just... breathe. Blood still matted his hair and crusted over places on his cheeks, neck, and chest, but he was pink again. Warm and still and pink and breathing.

This fight was over. And there was still time before the next one would begin.

She rubbed her eyes and turned at the sound of someone sniffing then shuffling in the dark emptiness of the vacant commons area behind her.

"Girl, you just really don't know what's good for you, do you?"

"Hmm...?" she hummed the question at the gruff doctor as he stepped up beside her.

" _You_ , my dear, should be in bed. Even Jedi Masters need sleep," Omar chided her.

"I'm not a Jedi Master," she sighed, finally feeling the weariness tug at the back of her eyes. "I'm not really even sure I'm a Jedi. I just let people call me that because they need to believe in it."

"Well, belief is a pretty heavy burden to bear," he agreed as he joined her in staring at his patient. "A wise person once told me that belief can move mountains... and sometimes even men."

"Hah," Rey laughed quietly. "That sounds like Maz. Was it Maz?"

Omar returned her humor as he scrubbed at the back of his neck. For the first time, in the dim golden-grey of the corridor, she could see the lines on his face, the speckles of white in the stubble of hair that forested his jaw. "Yeah, hehe... yeah. It was Maz. So, uh," he nodded his head once to indicate the form of Ben lying prone on the other side of the energy barrier, "what do you think of my handiwork? Not bad, for a neurosurgeon... my time as a New Republic field medic was hardly the bulk of my career. This kind of crude suturing is, uhh... well, I know a lot more about brains than I do livers or lungs."

"Will he be alright?"

"I've done the best I can for him - I've got injections in him at all the major points: broken bones, failing organs, et cetera. I've got him on a steady bacta drip right now, that's what that pole is. I'm also monitoring his vitals and his O2 sat. If he makes it through the night, he'll stand a good chance. Right now we just have to wait and see... see what he wants to do."

"See if he decides whether he wants to live or die, you mean..."

Omar merely pursed his lips and released a breath as he folded his hands behind his back.

"Look, I know what you're thinking about doing, and we both know I can't stop you, but as the highest medical authority on this ship I'm asking you to... not."

"I don't know what you- "

"Oh come on now, I saw you do it. We all saw you do it. You talked to him - you talk to each other. Through the Force."

He had her there. Weirdly, she hadn't thought of reaching out to him through their bond. She hadn't been terribly certain he'd even be able to answer.

"I'm asking you not to," Omar went on. "His best medicine right now is uninterrupted rest."

"Oh... oh no, I..." she stammered and yawned. "I wasn't going to..."

"Good. I mean, I know he means something to you, but..." Omar shifted his weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other. "But this is in his hands now. Choosing to fight is a... is a deeply personal decision."

The doctor's face darkened as his chin fell to his chest. For a few moments Rey only observed him out of the corner of her eye as his posture slumped and his eyes stared someplace far away. She wondered if this was about his wife...

"I need to know," he interrupted her before she could ask, twirling a hand around, "... I mean, _I specifically_ don't need to know, but someone needs to ask the question..."

"What question?"

"And please understand, I'm not trying to make you uncomfortable." He placed the same hand on her shoulder. "But this is our reality now. Kylo Ren is _on this ship_ with us now. And I know the situation has changed. I know there are things at play here that... that, I admit - they aren't what I thought they were. But there are still children on this ship. And a small group of terrified and abused young women. If he decides to do something crazy," at this he turned her to face him with his hand remaining where it rested, "you are the only living thing here that has the power to protect us. We all need to know... what is this guy to you? What does he mean to you?"

Rey squared her shoulders and straightened her spine in an unsuccessful attempt to stifle a flush of indignity. She wasn't sure that was anybody's business. But she couldn't allow herself to take offense - this wasn't the seed of doubt, it was a valid question. One she was even asking herself... had been for some time, should events have turned out... more or less exactly as they had.

"You're asking if I'll be able to... to do what needs to be done. If the time comes."

"I am."

Like she couldn't do when they were in the forest on Churruma, facing off against each other. She'd been thrilled then to discover his hidden compassion - the one that betrayed him when he'd failed to convince himself to strike her down. But a twinge of unease in her stomach reminded her that she hadn't exactly been the first to draw her blaster, either. The thing had been there, strapped to her hip, easily within reach and in perfect working order. Her own compassion toward him had betrayed her too, and stayed her hand. If saving his life meant subjecting these innocent people to the risk of having the dreaded Kylo Ren on board the very same ship - trapped within the same bubble of life support that preserved them from the pitiless vacuum of outer space... the thought gave her flashbacks to the time she'd first met Ben's father, and how they'd made their precipitous escape from a freighter that'd held them and an advancing horde of men who were out for their money or blood or both... alongside a pack of ravenous rathtars. If this turned out to be a gamble she made and lost... could she really do what needed to be done?

 _War has a certain philosophy._

 _War is risk. You can't win a war if you can't define the line between which risk is acceptable and which one isn't_.

The way she hadn't on the Supremacy? As she'd stood there, her insides twisting with indecision as she'd wavered between the vision of her friends being slaughtered wholesale... and his unconscious body lying, vulnerable, on the floor? Hindsight being what it was, if she couldn't have done it then... could she really say she could do it now?

"Look," Omar said, tearing through the tumbling knot inside her head, "I don't need an answer, okay? Like I said, I'm not trying to glue you to the spot here, and I won't pretend I know what it's like to, to... to be linked through the Force or whatever it is you guys do. It's just... I'm just saying, someone needed to give a voice to the bantha in the room."

He wasn't wrong. And of course she could do it. If Ben really gave her no choice... of course she could. She was still the same woman who'd pushed him out of her mind when he'd tried to force his way inside. She was still the same woman who'd turned down the foolish proposal he'd made to her in the afterglow of their fight with Snoke's Praetorian Guards. She was still the same woman who'd shut out his desperate attempts to batter the bond between them to bits, to deny him a glimpse of his dying mother.

She was still the same woman who'd given him that scar on his face.

This was why the Jedi forbade emotional attachments - to draw the line in the sand between compassion and duty. But this was also why the Jedi failed. One couldn't save what was loved... if one was never allowed to love in the first place. She would never betray these people and she would always stand up for what she believed was right... but Leia Organa also believed in her, and that she'd be the last person in the galaxy to give her son a chance. And that's exactly what she would do. She took Omar's hand, the one that still weighed heavily on her shoulder. She gave it a reassuring squeeze.

"I am willing to do whatever it takes to keep _everyone_ on this ship safe." She gave his hand a pat before he lifted it away. "And I _know_... " she paused, anticipating his argument, "I know the best of intentions are nothing more than intentions. I get that. I know we don't have ships and we don't have guns. We don't have anything at all... at least, not until Poe gets back. I know right now things are... tense. And you don't exactly have a lot of faith in us... or in me. I know this galaxy has taken a lot away from you, and it's hard to find faith in anything at all. I've lost things too... and people. So has he. So I understand this.

"But I have faith in the Force. The Force _is with_ us. The Force is there to guide us - and it believes in second chances. Even for grumpy old men like you."

"Now, wait a minute - what're you trying to imp-"

She tossed a hand toward Ben Solo, still blissfully unconscious where he lay behind the barrier.

"We both know he's not the only one wrestling a demon. You are so driven and so jaded, and- "

"Jaded? Now hold on- "

"- and you hold on so tightly to those you've sworn to protect because the universe, or fate, or the Force, or whatever took someone from you, and there's a part of you that still blames yourself for it somehow." She sized up his piercing blue eyes with a confidence she wasn't sure she felt. But this was necessary. This fight was over and if they were to begin the next - if they were truly to unite against a common foe - then it was time for healing to begin. For _everyone_. "You've become so surly and so distrustful because you can't let it happen again. You can't let it go."

 _No, no! You're still holding on - let go!_ The meaning of his words began to snap together like puzzle pieces.

"You don't understand," he sighed with his eyes closed, his head hanging from his shoulders, shaking back and forth.

"But I do," she pointed at Ben again, "and so does that man in there. We're all doing our best to put fear and death and grief behind us. And it's hard to say who's doing it better."

"Heh," Omar grunted to swallow his bitterness, "it's not _him_."

"No," she couldn't help the laugh that bubbled out of her belly, "no, you're right - it's not."

"It's, uh..." he confessed, "it's easier if you keep busy." Wasn't that the truth...

"Omar..." she began, delicately, "... what happened to your wife?"

Omar stared at the red-black sutures that crisscrossed Ben Solo's skin like tracks carved into the salt on Crait. It almost looked like he wanted to split them open, disappear inside his flesh as if he was a tauntaun, simply to avoid answering the question.

"What was her name?"

"Lily," he replied after a pause, his voice scarcely more than a whisper. He brought up his fingers to rub his eyes and when he pulled them away, Rey thought they looked damp. "She, uh... she'd been sick. For a while. It was cancer."

"But... but I thought bacta- "

"There are some aggressive forms of cancer that metastasize fast enough even bacta has trouble keeping up. It can keep fighting the battles, but it won't likely ever win the war."

"I... Oh stars, I... I'm so sorry... "

"We were making a run - had two kids with us, a pair of twin brothers." He leaned one elbow against the wall next to the barrier, crossing his ankles as he stuffed his other hand in his pants pocket. "They weren't force sensitive, they were just all that was left of a village that got torched. We were making our way out of the Outer Rim when we got caught up in a firefight between the First Order and someone else, it was hard to tell who. Could've been the Republic, could've been the Resistance... could've been some grass roots uprising or even a trade rebellion, I really couldn't tell you. All I know is that I got cocky and thought they'd be too busy with each other to take any notice of us so we passed right on through."

He stopped for a moment and scuffed the heel of one foot against the floor. He held his breath for a moment and chewed his lip, and when he went on his voice took on an anguished tone that Rey had never heard him make. It was so foreign to his demeanor that it frightened her.

"I was wrong," he admitted, quaking with heartache. He nodded his head and sank into his regrets. "We took fire. Our engines were damaged. We made an evasive landing on an uninhabitable planet - it had no breathable atmosphere, and the surface was hot enough it was scorching through our hull plating. We had enough power to generate the shields and send out a distress signal for probably a month or so, if we were conservative, but no more than that.

"That wasn't the problem, though. The _real_ problem was that one of the boys ended up getting hurt. Badly. When I said 'evasive landing,' well... I really mean it was a crash landing. It was the best I could do under the circumstances."

"Of course it was. And your bacta supply...?" Rey guessed.

"Yeah." Omar only continued to stare at Ben and shake his head. "Yeah, I-I think you can see where this is headed. My wife was literally put in a position where she had to choose between saving the boy... and saving herself."

Rey wasn't sure she would have done anything different. Every time she stepped into a starship to go anywhere or do anything... she knew the risks. She also knew the rewards. But knowing was no comfort.

"And that's why you work so hard at what you do," she told him. "So that her sacrifice isn't in vain."

"If you could have just seen her once..." He brought a trembling hand to his lips and held it there for a moment, his memory perfectly conjuring the intimately well-known image of a face Rey couldn't see. "She was this sweet, red-headed, freckled thing. A real firecracker - angrier than a half-starved rancor. She was an unstoppable force. She was the galaxy's rarest treasure. Loved her the moment I heard her call a staff physician a moron to his face. She gave me the kind of home a man only dreams of. Freely. Just 'cause she wanted to.

"And then I went and did something stupid... so reckless... so idiotically stupid. And..." The fingers at his lips crept up the plane of his brow until his entire face was cradled in his palm. "And I got her killed. That's the thanks I gave her."

At first, Rey couldn't think of a single thing to say. She knew grief very well - she'd mourned her parents all of her life. But the only guilt she'd ever felt toward them was simply for not being a good enough daughter for them to want to keep. This was different. This was something Ben would have understood better... even if the difference between them was that Omar was lamenting something that extended far beyond his ability to control it.

"Spend the rest of my life trying to deserve a wife like her," he mused, wiping his face and letting his hand fall back to his side. "Go to my grave, if I have to."

"It wasn't your fault," she assured him, her eyes still fixed on the black strand of hair that drooped across Ben Solo's face. "She didn't die because your ship crashed. She died because she had cancer. You have to forgive yourself."

 _Forgive yourself_. Rey felt a buzz up her spine at the thought, from where her neck met her shoulders. There was something that just felt very... very _right_ about the sentiment.

"You have to give yourself a second chance."

"Be nice if the galaxy worked that way," he replied, true once more to his typical level of cynicism.

"But I know you believe it does."

"Hmph. You sure about that?"

"The proof is right there," she said, pointing at Ben. "I know you said you took an oath, but oaths are just words. And I don't think either one of us really believes this galaxy cares one whit about your sense of honor. The truth is, you had a choice, same as me. Same as I did on the Supremacy, same as I did in the forest on Churruma, same as I do even now, standing here.

"That man right there - Kylo Ren - killed his own father in cold blood. To serve a purpose that was nothing more than a lie. The only reason he's here with us now is because his guilt and his grief have broken him in half. He'll spend the rest of his life missing his father. Go to his grave with it, too. Just like you.

"You could have shot him. You could have said no and just left him on there on Prakith to rot. You could have done whatever you thought you needed to do - done whatever it took to do this galaxy a favor and rid it of his wretched existence.

"But you didn't. You couldn't do it any more than I could because... because we've all had enough of death and guilt and grief. You chose to save him just as much as I did. You chose to give him a second chance because deep down you know that if the universe, or fate, or the Force, or whatever can give someone like _him_ a second chance...

"Then maybe it can give _you_ one too."

Stoic and stern, Omar continued to stand leaning as casually as he could manage against the wall, but the stiff set of his jaw betrayed his inner turmoil. He never tried to argue with her. He never tried to prove her wrong. Her words were hanging in the air, bright as a casino sign on Canto Bight, and he chose to let them be, undisturbed.

"You know, there's still something I just can't quite shake," was his only response, an attempt to change the subject and break the tension. He nodded once more to Ben. "Something Ali said to him on the Zephyr, on the way here."

"What's that?"

"He said he promised to take him home." Overtaken by either his age or the late hour or both, he stepped away from the wall and pushed both fists into the small of his back, bending his spine in a satisfying stretch. "You think he'd do something like that?"

In truth, Rey knew Ben Solo to be a lot of things. Namely, she knew him to be Kylo Ren. She knew him to be savage at times in unpredictable ways, and she knew how vicious he could be in his stubborn pursuit of a goal. She knew that his arrogance and his pride in his bloodline, his abilities, and his station as a leader bordered on parochial and despotic. She also knew him to be conflicted and insecure... and desperate for a basic human connection. He was starved for touch and afraid of being forgotten - afraid of being alone. And she also knew Ben Solo to be terribly, brutally honest... not to mention strangely very forthright. If Ben Solo said he was going to do something...

"I don't know," she muttered curiously as she stared at him, purposefully ignoring their bond for purely medical reasons, yet secretly wishing she could take just one little peek into his soul to be sure, "but I'd really like to find that out."

"Well," Omar huffed as he stuffed his hands back into his pockets and turned to take his leave, "for Ali's sake, I hope he knows what he's getting himself into. That's a really big promise to make a kid in the middle of a war."

The doctor was, unsurprisingly, right again. It was clear that Ben's promise was most likely made from a myopic projection of his own experiences, having gone through the same type of separation from his family at such a young age... and having also grown up afraid of his own power... having been groomed as a tool to be used by those who would only serve to abuse him. The gesture was altruistic, to be certain... but what would happen if his venture failed to be met with success? What would he do if it was never safe to take Ali back to his mother? What if they could never find her?

What if she was already dead? Were these questions enough to keep him from trying?

"He needs help. And so do you. So do we - we all do." And as luck would have it... the Force had seen fit to bring them all together. "So we'll just have to help each other. And trust in the Force, Omar," she said to him as he disappeared into the dark of the still and sleepy commons, "just... just trust." Easier said than done.

"Don't stay up too late, kiddo," he shot back at her from out of sight. "The _real_ problems start tomorrow... when your General tries to park his ship in your docking bay..."

Oh, heh... oh yeah... _that_...


	14. Ch 14: What Comes After

**Chapter 14: What Comes After**

Kylo Ren couldn't remember the last time he felt so good. And while there was this shrill little voice in the back of his mind that begged for him to remember that not everything was as it should be... he couldn't summon the energy to care. He didn't want to bring an end to this... this motionless suspension of the senses. This soft, pillowy, lavender-grey blanket of comfort and peace. Through his drowsy, dreamlike state he'd become aware of dim lights and hushed voices somewhere nearby. He knew he had no idea where he was or who he was with - his situational awareness had also been completely smothered by this sleepy lull of tranquility, along with that nagging little voice that cried in vain for his attention. Each time he felt he might rise above the fog, the ceiling climbed a little higher and he remained blissfully submerged in soft, lazy ambivalence.

He hadn't forgotten his struggles. It was just that they didn't matter. His memories of being disempowered, disenfranchised, dehumanized... infantilized... abused... His ardent determination to seek power, to demand control... to exact retribution for his humiliations... to stab a blow of vengeance into the heart of his cruel past... The need to close his fist around the throats of those who would strive to strip him down to his naked vulnerabilities... None of it. None of it mattered. Instead, he tasted the honeyed tang of hypocrisy in his own words and succumbed easily to the notion of just... letting go. Just once. Just for now.

Just this once, he chose to let someone else take control.

The spell was broken for a moment, however, when something soft (yet not as soft as the surrounding softness) brushed a circle around his face, trailing something like long tendrils or feathers behind it. It tickled his nose and made his skin itch, but he couldn't convince his arms to move, and he ultimately decided that the sensation wasn't terribly urgent. It was accompanied by a series of quiet mewlings and rumblings, alien speech that he could just make out if he could force his brain to keep up and listen. It was familiar, he knew the voice, it was so... so...

Sinking. He was sinking again. But not the panicky type of sinking that one experiences while drowning in water. This was like... like falling into a warm, spongy, comfortable mattress. Like... like how he imagined it would feel to fall into a lover's embrace, if he knew such a thing. Skin against skin, smooth like silk, leaving goosebumps behind where the warmth receded... eyelashes to cheeks... breath hot against the neck...

His neck... there was something touching his neck. But instead of hot, it was cool - icy cool. Not the ice cold dread of death he felt before, but something revitalizing, something pleasant. Something refreshing. It dribbled down his neck from somewhere near his cheeks, his eyes... it pooled invitingly in the crease between his lips. Out of reflex, he dabbed at it with his tongue and let the coolness enter him to chill his chafed and parched throat the way a welcome rain would soak the sands of sun-baked desert dunes.

"Oh! He's moving! I think he's waking up!"

That voice. That one. He knew that one. If he really traced the path of his thoughts and memories - truly trailed them with his nose to the ground the way a predator tracks its prey - he felt he could say with honesty that he'd heard that voice many times throughout his life, in dreams and in visions. In mystic, Force-driven foresight. The girl. Rey.

"No he's not, I promise." And then there was that guy, whoever he was... the unfamiliar voice belonging to the strangely familiar face. "He's completely blitzed on bacta and painkillers right now. He has no idea what consciousness even feels like. He doesn't even know what year it is right now - trust me, you'll know when he's awake." A fresh swath of cool wetness washed across his forehead and streamed into his hair and down his neck, and trickled over his shoulders. It was heavenly. "That blood you're cleaning off? He's swallowed enough of that, and his body's been through enough trauma, the first thing he's gonna do when he finally comes to is vomit. Everywhere."

The damp was pulled away.

"... Oh."

"You know, just in case, here's a basin."

"... Uh... thanks."

Then, as if on cue, an acute wave of clammy nausea flooded him the way a thunderstorm would ruin an otherwise perfectly sunny day. But he was so tired... still so numb... still so nicely wrapped in fuzzy, soft complacency... the wave passed easily, brushing over him as gently as the fingers that combed through the wet strands of hair near his face. He was set adrift once more, bobbing slowly, buoyant on a raft made of apathy and comfort.

 _Forgive me, my brave little starfighter_... His mother's voice sang to him - a sweet, dulcet lullaby, a sunlit corona waxing beyond the horizon. _And forgive yourself._

He tried to remember the things he'd done... but wasn't sure he could even conjure his own name. Forgiveness meant something to him - the syllables of the word had feeling that moved across his tongue... but the meaning was like a mismatched sock for which he couldn't find the mate. There was a sea that divided clear, waking thought from arbitrary, subconscious nonsense, and he was riding those ripples with the serenity of an intoxicated idiot.

His sails were to the wind, and he was content to let it take him wherever it intended to go. Just this once, he relaxed every fiber in his body, he relinquished himself to the misty grey miasma of nothingness, and he placed his faith in the will of the Force.

* * *

"So, uh," Finn began as he sidled up next to her, fidgeting with his hands and glancing around nervously the way he usually did when he was broaching a subject that made him uncomfortable, "how, um... how are things in there?"

Rey had to assume he was referring to Ben. Kylo Ren was, unsurprisingly, the hottest topic of conversation on the ship at the moment. And for additional context, Finn had caught her at the sink in the mess unit (a modest kitchenette offset from the main commons, bridged by an adjoining bar) doing her best to rinse the blood out of the cloth she'd used to clean his face and neck.

She also had to assume her friend was the gopher - the chosen representative elected by the masses to initiate this conversation and try to further assess the situation. Assess the potential for danger. And, naturally... assess what further steps might need to be... taken. It would seem the peace she'd enjoyed for the past few hours was finally broken and the new fight was now beginning. She had known the task ahead was going to be difficult, integrating her society and her friends with a man she'd come to know in a different and uniquely particular sort of way... a man who was still considered Enemy Number One by the deserving and vocal majority of the known galaxy. But she also knew a Jedi should never allow oneself to be thwarted by difficulty or challenge. At least that's what the Jedi texts said. The path of least resistance most often led to the dark side.

Which honestly sounded a little... bigoted, if she had to choose a term. Or... short-sighted. She didn't think anyone would try to argue that giving up on something simply because it was hard was the right thing to do, but sometimes there was a fine line between easy and more efficient. Sometimes the difference between difficulty or ease was a matter of practice or experience, or even intellect. Or perspective. Perhaps it was just more correct to say that doing the right thing was typically worth the effort.

The greater the effort, the greater the reward. She hoped.

"Well," she answered, watching dirty, rust-colored water swirl down the drain, "it looks like he's going to live, but I'm not sure... what comes after." She let the cloth drop into the basin of the sink with a wet splat before she turned to look her friend in the eye. It didn't do her any good to close herself off from the situation or isolate herself, and she truly believed the Force had brought them all together for a reason. They all needed each other, and right now... she really needed a friend to talk to.

"Finn..." she implored, "I'm really scared. I think maybe I've made a huge mistake here."

"By bringing him here, you mean."

"Yeah... I mean... yes. I knew the risks - I knew I was putting everyone on this ship, including him, in danger. But I did it anyway. How awful does that make me...?"

"Rey," he told her, placing a hand on her shoulder and gripping it firmly with the type of honest support she really needed to find in him, "... I'm not gonna lie to you... this is gonna get really, really... tense. But would you really turn around and do anything different? Would you really just leave him there in the dirt?"

"I... I think Poe would probably prefer -"

"Forget about Poe for a minute. Could you really leave anyone lying there in the dirt? If you knew they needed help?"

"Well... when you put it that way..."

"It means you still have empathy, Rey. It means you have compassion. Right now... in _this_ galaxy. Isn't that what Jedi are supposed to be about? Real Jedi?"

"I don't even know... being a Jedi feels a lot like the blind leading the blind..."

"Rey. I'm telling you. That's what it means to the galaxy - to the rest of us. It means that you are a second chance for someone who... who made mistakes. Who... did bad things and maybe wants a better life. Someone like me. You gave me hope - hope that the life I want is possible. Something with meaning. And it means that you won't condemn a man to death who was maybe..." he hemmed and hawed for a moment, bobbing his head while obviously fighting with his own words, "... who was maybe not really very different. And you're right... I, I get it, you're right. I do understand what he's like. You and I might be the only people left in the universe who do. But it means you're not a heartless monster, Rey.

"It means you're someone we can turn to for help. It means you're still what this galaxy needs right now."

"Finn. Ben nearly sliced you in half. He nearly killed you - are you telling me -"

"Yes, I know - I know what he did, you don't have to remind me. But, if I recall correctly," he leaned forward, eyeballing her with a knowing glare, "someone who shall remain nameless may or may not have cut him open just as badly in return. Yeah? Who was that?"

"Well, yeah, I know, but... I guess, it's just... " She struggled finding the right words - her mind was squashed under the oppressive weight of the cosmos. Omar was right, belief was a heavy burden to bear. It pressed on her shoulders and made her neck sore, the way she sometimes felt visiting a planet that was cooler and wetter than the deserts where she grew up. It ached behind her eyes and made her yearn for a long, uninterrupted week of solid sleep.

"Rey, what is it you're really afraid of here?" Finn crossed his arms over his chest. That was what he was there to ask her, after all. "Truly. Honestly. Talk to me."

She blew a deep, calming breath before she collected her thoughts and pieced together some semblance of an answer for him.

"I guess I'm just afraid I won't always be this thing you all believe in. Or can't be. What if I fail you? Lives are on the line here, Finn - real ones. Women and children. What if I'm wrong about him? What if he... "

"Okay, I am far from his biggest advocate on this ship, alright? Like, if he'd keeled over on his own before we'd even docked the Zephyr I'm not kidding, I definitely would not have shed a tear for the guy. But I was there with you when he called to you, Rey. I was there to help you guide him off the ship - I was there to help him save a little boy's life.

"He came to _us_ , remember? Do you really think he'll try to harm anyone on this ship? I guess... I guess that's what we're all asking ourselves right now, but for some reason we all think..." he passed a hand over his hair and his face fell with a visible worry that what he was about to say would be considered slightly offensive, "... we all think _you_ hold the answer. That's a little unfair, probably."

"You're referring to our bond... through the Force..."

"Sure. Yeah. I am. Yes. But, I mean, we just saved his life. That's what I want to know. Would he attack the people who saved him? That would be crazy, wouldn't it? Even for him? Would he do that?"

That was the question Rey couldn't chase out of her head. If they were anyone else, she would be paranoid, certainly, but not queasy and quivering inside with cold dread like this. This was worse than a simple nemesis-versus-nemesis scenario. This was far more complex - this was dirty and muddy and mixed up.

They were the Resistance.

To Ben Solo, the Resistance was representative of the Republic. They were indivisible - part and parcel of the same thing, even if that wasn't true. And the Republic had stolen his parents from him at a time in his life when he'd needed them most, needed protection - when Snoke had snuck in under the guise of a young boy's rampant imagination to pervert the tender crucible of his innocence, and now... now Rey could only gaze with mixed emotions at the crackling, golden barrier of energy that capped off the only means to enter or exit Ben's newest, current prison cell. Now the Resistance was just another gilded cage in a lifelong series of cages that had sought to confine and withhold the menace that evolved from Ben Solo. And Ben wasn't exactly famous for his predictability, nor had any of them spent any real amount of time in close quarters with the man... at least, not physically. Well, more than metaphysically, anyway. This was uncharted territory.

"Do you wanna know what I think?" Finn asked instead, halting the cyclonic circle of her thoughts. "The real worst case scenario?"

She did. She very much did. The need for an outside perspective at the moment was as life affirming as a puddle in the middle of the desert. All she could do was let her apprehension churn in her guts as she nodded her head with vigor.

"I think," he answered her, "that barrier is a joke. The only thing that can really hold him on this ship is you. And if you don't want to force him to be your prisoner, then the first thing he's gonna do is launch it into that wall over there, then mow down anyone who decides to get in his way as he makes a break for his ship sitting in the hangar. So, all we've gotta do is make sure we don't get in his way."

"But," she replied, "that's such a big risk..." Like they were trying to clamp a lid down over an erupting volcano. Ben Solo had been a prisoner all of his life, and it wasn't very likely he was going to let much stand in the way between him and his first taste of real freedom.

"Aren't you the one who keeps saying war is knowing which risk is- "

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I should maybe stop saying that so often..."

"It sounds better when you're trying to convince Omar to do something," Finn teased her. Laughing at that felt inappropriate... but she did it anyway.

"I just wish we had a plan," she muttered as she reached into the basin and slopped around with her stained and wet leftover rag.

"You can't plan for what you can't predict."

"I'm not sure Poe would feel that way."

"With any luck," Finn said, "Kylo Ren will wake up and be halfway down the hyperlanes before Poe is done with his negotiations."

"There is no way we're going to get that lucky. And there is no way Poe is going to let him just, just... just..." she flopped her hand around in front of her, flinging droplets of water as she fought the weariness beginning to infringe upon her capacity for logic and reason, "just run off out there, completely alone, unchecked and unhinged, to just gallivant across the galaxy doing, I don't know, _Makers_ only know whatever..."

"Rey," Finn addressed her again, reaching around her to finally turn off the tap she'd allowed to just run and run, forgotten, "I don't want to make you feel even worse, but... but what could Poe do to stop him? Didn't you hear what I said?"

She did. She knew. She just wasn't... she just wasn't ready to be this thing. The little girl that still needed her parents was gone, shed like a skin to be discarded and blown to the wind, but this... what came after... she was still in the process of accepting her womanhood. She still wanted to look up to figures like Luke and Han and Leia. She still considered Poe her highest authority. She still hero-worshipped people who... hero-worshipped her. She wasn't ready to be this paragon.

And yet... there she was. And it didn't come with an off switch.

"I know," she answered, "he can't do anything to stop him. But I can. I just have to decide if I should."

Finn could only sigh and shake his head, turning to lean his butt against the counter next to the sink. "I remember picking up that lightsaber," he told her, "in the forest. There was this fleeting moment when I thought to myself how... how amazing it would be if it was me... if I was... if I was like you."

"Finn..."

"No, no, no - listen. And then Kylo Ren came at me. Swinging. Well, more than that. Swinging was what I was doing, but Kylo Ren... his face was all computational analysis. It was complex math. He was counting every angle, every step. I'm a trained Trooper, Rey, and even I had never seen training like that. Like, like... like brainwashing. Well... that happens to Troopers, too, but you know what I mean. The way he moved his feet, like he was dancing with the air..."

As Rey listened to him talk, she couldn't suppress the unintended smile that pulled at her lips. She knew very well the way Ben danced, having danced his deadly dance once before, side by side. And she knew that face on him, the one that was summing odds and making predictions on how to evade three Praetorian Guardsmen simultaneously... the one that had hovered over her in the forest, lit ablaze in red and blue as he'd placed a calculated wager on whether she'd accept his offer to train with him, teacher and pupil. Or more.

"The way," Finn continued, "he would pinwheel that blade, making you think he's just showing off but what he's really doing is blinding you with an arc of light so bright it stuns you. Throws you off your guard. The way no small movement was inconsequential. Everything he did had intent. And every blow he landed, Rey... even without the Force...

"He _is_ a force. A force to be reckoned with. And I know I couldn't do it. I knew then just as I know it now. To have to wear that gauntlet, Rey... to have to bear that burden... I cannot even imagine. I could not ever hope to stop him. Poe cannot ever hope to stop him. No one on this ship can.

"No one... except you." He peeled himself away from the counter and squared off in front of her, his feet in line with his shoulders, planted firmly with seriousness, duty, and affection. He placed both hands on her shoulders and pursed his lips once before he spoke again, his voice low and his eyebrows narrowed together with meaning. "You are my best friend. I can't stop Kylo Ren from hurting anyone on this ship... but I can do whatever you need me to do to help you. I know you feel alone. I know you feel like you're carrying all of this weight by yourself. And I know you've felt like this all of your life. But I'm telling you." He shook her shoulders once and repeated himself. "I'm telling you. You're not alone. And we're going to help you. This is gonna get tense. And we're gonna help you.

"But..." he sighed as he dropped his hands away, rubbing his neck as he turned around to saunter back down the hall, presumably to return to the inventory of carbon filter pods he'd left, trying to sort out where they were in their water filtration process. "He came to you, Rey. He called out for you. I just think there has to be a reason."

"He called out to me for help," she mumbled more to herself than anyone, "but not for himself. For Al-"

"Oof!"

Rey whipped her head around at the small exclamation, and the soft thud typically associated with the collision of two bodies in motion.

"Ali!" Finn exclaimed, patting down the boy's head and shoulders to be sure he was okay. "I'm so sorry, I didn't see you - are you okay? Here, let me get that." He bent at the middle to retrieve an object Rey had only just noticed the boy had dropped. "What is this...?"

"He told me..." the boy stammered, taking the object from Finn when proffered, "he told me to give this to you. He said it was important." He stumbled a little, still off balance, before he stepped past Finn to approach Rey, one thin arm raised holding the slim, square object out for her to take. It was a small datapad, clearly Imperial in origin.

A First Order datapad.

"Who gave this to you, Ali?" Rey asked, even though she already knew the answer. Ali only looked over his shoulder at the glowing, buzzing energy barrier encapsulating the old captain's chambers.

"Ben did? Kylo Ren gave this to you?"

The boy nodded his confirmation.

"Did he say why?"

"He said it was important. He was coughing a lot... it was hard to understand him..."

"It's okay, Ali, it's alright," she assured him, taking the pad into her own hands. "You've done a good job. Why don't you go help Chewbacca clean up some of that mess in the hangar? If you count up all of the ration bars, he might let you have one of the last few chooca nut ones..."

The boy only smiled the way a child does when baited before he zipped down the hallway with the classic sort of exuberance commonly found in a gawky ten year old boy.

"What is that, Rey?" Finn asked her.

"I don't know... but Ben risked a lot to get it into our hands. Let's go take a look."

* * *

The air was alive with a constant hum - the hums of drones fighting to maintain their position while under constant battery by the ceaseless, biting winds of Korriban, coarse with their heavy payload of sand. The hums of shuttle engines added their voices to the chorus as they touched down behind the regiments of officers and troopers aligned in crisp, perfect formation. Parades of men and women streamed from within them as they filed in and took their neat and precise places next to their brethren. Within the hour, only a skeleton crew would remain on board the Vindicator still floating in orbit, comprised of those strictly necessary to the performance of her barest motor functions.

Hux watched from atop his hastily erected dais, blinking the grit from his eyes. He refused to turn away and spare his membranes the assault - he would show no sign of weakness and expected the same from all of his men. He was their ideal - their prime example. Their Supreme Leader.

Now was his time.

A rowdy and impatient descant of clicks and whirs added a peculiar sort of percussion to the symphony. It came from behind him, hidden until the time was right for maximum dramatic effect. Deep within the walls of the ancient Sith Academy waited a small metal army of dutiful and deadly HK droids. And then, immediately next to him and never outside of his reach, resting as sweetly as a pearl in a shell atop a slim pedestal next to his podium, was the shining spherical shape of the Infinite Engine itself.

The very instrument of their newfound push for glory.

He stood as rigid and as straight as the podium before him, his body a pillar between heaven and earth. His eyes were observing, judging, and acknowledging the formal retinue lining up beneath him, squaring themselves into a perfect latticework of still, orderly squadrons. His mind, however, was on fire - alight with plans for their future and the recitations he was ready to give voice. The First Order was finally in a position to make strides that their predecessor, the Empire of ages past, never could. No longer were they subservient to the base and plebian need for an economy based on fair market trade.

And no longer were they beholden to the ridiculous and superstitious whims of the Sith.

There was no longer a need for fallacy, or for dullard ignorance, or peasant mysticism. Now was the time for technology. And order.

Now was the time for great machines.

When the last shuttle's impulse engine had spun down, allowing friction to slow it into silence - when the last stirrings of dust had been carried away on the endless wind that continued to billow jackets and tug at hats and helmets - Hux gave his signal. The lenses aboard the hovering drones shuttered to life and the satellite station hanging above their position pinged a signal far and wide, surging like electricity through the web of the holonet. Troops and officers stationed everywhere, across the most distant reaches of the galaxy, had their orders to tune in on this day - this very special day.

It was time to make the announcement. He flicked a finger at his lone attendant, whose sole function was to enable power to the microphone on the podium. Hux brought his knuckles to his lips to daintily clear his throat, and then he began.

"My esteemed comrades. My brothers. And sisters. As we all know, mere days ago our beloved and exalted Supreme Leader, Kylo Ren, suffered a sudden and startling medical... event on the bridge of the Vindicator. I regret that I could not be there with him when he needed me most... my duties in service to this Order had led me here, to this planet. I had been assured, however, that he had received immediate treatment of the utmost quality and care.

"So imagine my shock and my dismay to learn of the very sudden and very... regrettable loss of the brave and venerable Commander Belloth. He was an officer to the letter - unwavering in his sense of duty and honor. He was a credit to his uniform. He was the very definition of exemplary for so many in our ranks who looked to him as a leader and a mentor. A tribute in words alone is insufficient. He died as a man should die - in service. He sacrificed his life for us - sacrificed his life to foil a plot that would have spelled doom for so many on board our great flagship, if brought to fruition.

"Which is what brings us here today. As we all know, mere days ago our great flagship - the pride of our fleet, the indomitable Vindicator herself - came under siege. What was not made public at that time, but will be made so here today, is that the threat came from within.

"This traitor sabotaged our escape pods. This traitor launched ballistics against his own men. This traitor wreaked havoc in our hangar and claimed lives. Those lives that were lost - their names will reside in our annals next to that of our cherished Commander Belloth. Brave souls who gave everything they had to keep us safe.

"To keep us free."

It was everything Hux could do to keep the mirth fluttering in his belly down where it belonged. He bit his tongue and gripped his podium once more to keep from cackling wildly. The solemn stares of row upon row of those adulating, sycophantic faces, hanging on his every word... the thrill of pieces falling into place, one by one as they formed a cohesive plan so perfect it deserved a bow tie and a bottle of wine...

"My fellow officers, and servicemen and women, it is my intention here today to make it officially known that that traitor that dealt us such a heavy blow was none other than the treasonous Kylo Ren himself."

As he'd suspected, there were no outbursts. There were no gasps, there were no hands clutching hearts. The soldiers and the officers of the First Order were far too disciplined to forget themselves or draw attention away from their General while being formally and ceremoniously addressed. Many chose instead to hang their heads low. The beat of silence Hux briefly allowed was swallowed by the omnipresent howling of the wind.

"Kylo Ren was never one of us. To his detriment - so few are receptive to the enrichment of the soul our way of life offers... so few know the purity of duty the way we do, if one is not born to it. And he was not. He carried a taint in his heart and a thirst for power that bade him only do evil. He was an insurgent threat to our carefully ordered and hard-working society."

And now to speak the truth.

"Supreme Leader Snoke - our great champion, the reverent benefactor of our grand crusade - was assassinated the day the Resistance fell over Crait. But not by Resistance hands.

"He was usurped by his own apprentice, Kylo Ren.

"I..." He paused again, and found a point low and to his left to deliver a well-perfected heartfelt, distant stare. He closed his eyes and hung his head to place a cap on the performance. "I failed you, my good people. I had had my suspicions that the murder was not carried out by the Resistance agent that had come into our custody, and yet I chose disbelief and inaction, which is not the way of the First Order. And now, as a result of my misplaced trust, our highest ranking officer has betrayed us all and taken with him valuable intel and knowledge."

Inside, Hux knew that oversight such as this would, and should, have cost him his head. Had someone else failed him so miserably as this, he would never have hesitated to carry out an immediate and very public execution. There was no need to further endure such incompetence, and opportunities to provide examples were too beneficial to be lost.

But Kylo Ren didn't abscond with everything. The greatest advantage the First Order still held over its enemies lived inside Hux's head, and his alone. He was simply too necessary to kill.

"In lieu of this, I am here before you today, humbled and penitent. Yet I will not patronize you with excuses or words of contrition. I will, instead, offer you recompense.

"I was called here to this planet - to this place, where you now stand - for a reason. There is great power here - lost to living memory, yet waiting to be rediscovered and reclaimed. I have done this for you, my good people. I have done this for you, and for all of our great Order.

"We will no longer sit groveling at the boots of fickle, capricious Sith. We will no longer be treated as ignorant lapdogs, serving only as disposable tools - a submissive brute squad, cowering in fear of their cheap, silly parlor tricks. We have our dignity, my brothers and my sisters. We have our power and our might - we have our technology and our ingenuity.

"And we have _this_."

At last he turned to the pedestal beside him. He felt the familiar buzz when he touched it, coursing through his arms and up his neck, vibrating where it met his shoulders. He relished the way the Engine felt in his hands as he cradled it like a baby... delighted in the way his vision swam and sounds grew duller - the way everything could just fall away if he would let it. There was a soft, beguiling darkness within the tender heart of the object - it called to him as sweetly and as halcyon as a lover. The gleam that flashed across his eyes was nothing short of manic as he proudly held it aloft for all to see.

"This artifact," he grinned as he twirled it in one high palm, allowing the rusty red sunlight to ripple across its immaculate surface, "is called the Infinite Engine. It is capable of something truly extraordinary. Something to scarcely be believed without any proof. But I am here to tell you I have seen it work - I have used it myself... and I have brought proof."

He gestured adroitly again to his attendant, who in turn pressed a few buttons on a datapad. A crashing wave of noise descended upon them - streams of stomping, marching robotic feet pouring out of the newly excavated entrance of the old Sith Academy. Even through the surrounding dusty haze, the polish of their metal hides and deadly artillery shined with cold, lethal resplendence. Even those born and raised in the punishing and unforgiving regimen of First Order training had difficulty suppressing a reaction to the terrifying, inhuman legion. They all remained steadfast at parade rest - not a muscle moved across the field. But Hux could see the whites of their eyes. There was nearly a machine for every man.

"And this," Hux continued as the dirt and the rocks absorbed the last of their echoes, "is merely a fraction. This force... is only the beginning.

"You see, my brothers and sisters, this artifact - this Infinite Engine - is made for only one thing: the simple act of creation. It requires very little fuel to create..." he swung his free hand in a wide arc before him, indicating all that could be seen, "all of this. And more. The possibilities are endless, my good people.

"We have the opportunity to shape this galaxy. We have the ability to begin a new renaissance - to pull these worlds out of the dark ages of dangerous occultism and religious idolatry. We have the ability to free all people from an oppressive and demeaning regime of corrupt capitalism and corporate greed. We have the ability to try something new - something egalitarian! Something... utopian!"

He gave the Engine a good shake before he lowered it gently, and lovingly placed it back where it belonged... at his side.

"From this day forward," he gripped the podium again tightly with crazed fervor, "the galaxy shall know that the First Order has become the _only_ true means for order. We are the great deliverance - we are the heralds of a new age! Today is a day for celebration, because today, my brothers and sisters, we shirk the mantle of our old, treasonous leadership. Today we bid it farewell to rot in the cold vacuum of space! Today we look to the future and know our direction... and know that there is still much work to be done!"

As was customary, Hux took one step back from the podium. With crisp uniformity, he clicked his heels together and snapped his arms to his sides, drawing his shoulders arrow straight. He lifted his chin with prestige and poise - his body language was a signal well known amongst the ranks of the First Order. They were now commanded to applaud and henceforth they did, although some more tentatively than others he noticed. Hux no longer feared those who would fear him. And everyone had their use. He did them the courtesy of a polite bow, little more than an inclination of the torso at the hips, before he secured the Engine once more and departed the dais.

Upon his descent he was joined by Lieutenant Allerset who was ready to receive his next set of orders.

"You were able to make contact with that Fondorian chef," he drilled her, flouncing a hand about with disinterest, "the one the entire holonet seems to worship right now..."

"Gzshardan Dhan, sir?"

"Yes, that's the one."

"Affirmative, sir. I'm told dinner services will begin promptly at eighteen-hundred hours, local time."

"Very good." She kept a brisk pace with him as he walked in parallel with his entourage of Praetorian Guards, making way toward their new command shuttle. "I want you to relay instructions to the chief helmsman and his staff."

"Of course, sir." She flipped a screen on her datapad and began to take notation.

"I want them to plot us a course to Endor."

"Endor, sir...?"

The Praetorians nearly mowed each other down in their failed attempt to stop as quickly as he did. Hux glared at the girl down the length of his nose.

"Must I repeat myself?" he asked her, icily.

He took a perverse thrill in watching how her throat trembled. She still managed to straighten her spine and stare directly ahead, somewhere over his left shoulder.

"N-no, my General. I-I will see it done at once."

"Be sure they are aware that we are to break orbit at oh-six-hundred hours, is that clear?"

"Absolutely, sir." With grace and bounce in her step, she turned as he resumed his stride.

"And who would be our current Head of Research and Development? The one that replaced the man who perished on the Supremacy?"

"That would be Moff Reardon, sir, although he is currently stationed on Hoth. His record here," her fingers flew across the surface of her screen, "states he is working with the team still assembling our new satellite stations. The climate there is apparently conducive to the assembly of their electronics."

"Very well. Alert him at once, I would have him meet us at Endor. There is much for he and I to discuss."

"Right away sir, it shall be done."

There was still much he needed to know before he consigned the fate of the entire First Order, and even the galaxy beyond, to the will of the Infinite Engine. But the wheel was turning once again.

They were moving forward.

* * *

"I don't get it," Rey sighed as she rubbed her eyes. The light from the datapad was starting to burn permanent lines of text across her retinas, and none of them made any sense. "This data... it all looks old. Well, I mean, some of it's more recent than other stuff I suppose, but I don't understand what's so important about it."

"Like," Finn mused beside her, creases setting in between his brows, "don't get me wrong, it's a little interesting looking at these old Deathstar plans... even if it's a bit creepy..."

"... it's chilling... millions of people..."

"Yeah... kinda like the Starkiller - did you see the size of its focusing lens in the Optics addendum?"

"What page was that on...?"

"I, uh... it was, uh..." Rey could hear the weariness saturate his voice like a cold, cloudy rain. He pushed his seat back and accidentally bumped the table, jiggling a few drops of lukewarm tea out of the tin cup he'd been using. He sighed as he rubbed his hands roughly over his hair. "Ugh, I don't know. I just don't understand what we're looking for here. I feel like the Force is constantly playing this big, cruel joke on us, like, 'look how stupid the dumb kids are, haha!'"

For the ninth time in the past half hour, Rey glanced over her shoulder at the barrier across the old captain's chamber door. At the moment Ali and the last two of Omar's children were seated in front of it conspiratorially. They chatted with each other quietly as they chewed a modest meal of ration bars and nutrient paste, giggling once in a while as they played little games with each other to pass the time.

"I wish he'd wake up," she mumbled.

"I feel two things about that," Finn replied, "especially with a bunch of kids gawking at him like a zoo animal. On the one hand, I think it's _his_ turn to wake up naked in a bacta suit... but yeah, looking at this mess, this time I'm inclined to agree with you." He rose, grabbed both his cup and hers, and headed toward the mess unit for another round of hot tea. Climates on board starships were characteristically cold and dry, having so little to insulate them from the absolute zero of outer space. Finn was more accustomed, having been raised in such an environment and not in the bleached and barren sands of Jakku, but even he still had his limits.

"I don't believe you," Rey heard the little girl argue behind her. She'd only just learned her name was Kaia, and that she called her little brother Bo. "You're a liar!" Eager for a distraction, Rey allowed the nascent argument to lure her like bait on a hook. Slowly she peered over her shoulder. The girl, finished with her meal, was clearly unimpressed by the form of the sleeping man on the other side of the barrier. She'd stood, brushed herself off, and collected her wrappers and utensils, having reached the end of her short attention span. "That's not Kylo Ren!"

"Yes it is!" Ali defended himself with deserving incredulity.

"No it's not!"

"Is so! I know because I was with him, and you weren't!"

"You're such a liar, Ali! Kylo Ren's gots a black mask and green skin and big, sharp tusks for teeth!"

"He's not a Gamorrean, stupid, and I've seen him without his mask before. You haven't!"

"I don't need to! I was in the Firs' Order and you weren't, and Mindula tol' me that Kylo Ren's gots big, sharp teeth and claws, and eats little kids like us for dinner, and she knows 'cause she's an officer!"

"Officer Mindula, my dear," rang a voice from the entryway before Rey had a chance to laugh, "was doing her job, and trying to get you to eat your vegetables." Omar sauntered through the door and deposited a fresh tube of palid but nourishing paste on the table before crossing the room to meet his young charges. "One of the hardest lessons in life you'll learn as you grow up is that the biggest monsters this galaxy has to offer," he lifted young Kaia's chin lightly with his fingertips once he reached her, "are nothing more than men and women." At this he turned his head and made eye contact with Rey. "Same thing goes for its heroes, too."

Rey could only smile shyly and shift uncomfortably in her seat. She scooted mostly around to face them and pressed her hands between her knees.

"The capacity for good and evil," she said, not even recognizing her own voice as the words tumbled from her mouth, "isn't something you're born with, like green skin or tusks. It's the choices that you make. That's what makes you what you are."

Omar huffed a breath as he cocked his head to the side and stared at her, his eyebrows climbing. He nodded slowly twice before saying, "Wow... nice."

"I should really write that down," she replied as a bright blush crept over her cheeks. She was serious. If the old Jedi texts were something to be improved upon... this was a great start.

"You should," he agreed as he patted Kaia a couple times on her shoulders and stepped away to grab a packet of bland soda crackers from the mess. He claimed a seat at the table just as Finn returned with two steaming cups of tea.

"Officer Mindula was in charge of the creche where Kaia and her brother were being raised. She was caught smuggling them out. I, uh..." Omar sighed under his breath as he steepled his fingers together on the tabletop. "I never heard what happened." He rubbed his hands together to warm them before he tapped the edge of the datapad in the middle of the table, grateful for the opportunity to change the subject. "Tell me about this. What are we looking at here?"

"That's just it," Rey answered him, "we have no idea. Everything that's on here is nothing more than old blueprints and spreadsheets. I can tell you how many TIE fighters a dreadnought hangar can hold, and I can tell you that Snoke was paying his navigator staff in a currency I've never heard of, but I can't for the life of me figure out what Ben thought was so important about..." she waved a hand over the pad as if it covered three times the surface area it actually did, "... all of... this."

"Would you like to know how many rolls of toilet paper the crew compliment of the Starkiller went through in a week?" Finn asked, "Because I was a sanitation worker on that station and even I was blown away."

"I'm curious how much they pay their medical staff, on average," Omar mused.

"Heh - keep dreaming. They don't," Finn laughed. "It's not their way to make a priority out of creature comforts like that. It's all done by cold, compassionless yet fiscally responsible droids."

"That's terrifying... do you know how many misdiagnoses happen each year from a simple lack of nuance?"

"I can only imagine..." Rey responded. "But other than getting a terribly unnecessary glimpse into just how much more awful the First Order really is than what we'd previously thought... this is just a completely useless heap of pictures, numbers, and words."

"Hmm, interesting... Pictures, numbers and words. Do you think...?" Omar began as he drummed his fingers against his lips. "Do you think there's some kind of... code in all this?"

"Like... like a pattern?"

"Yeah, something like that."

"We hadn't really looked at it like that..."

"You know who's pretty good at picking out patterns- " Finn started before he was interrupted by the wet, heaving sound of someone retching in the other room.

The room behind the barrier.

Rey felt a familiar buzz race up the back of her neck as pandemonium erupted and the children screamed and scattered, knocking over cups and bowls as they barreled over each other in their attempt to bolt for the door. Omar twisted around in his chair to try to find the cause for the commotion. On his way around, his knee bumped the table again, dangerously splashing scalding hot tea in at least two different directions. Nonplussed, he watched in amusement as the children fled and finally huddled themselves against the door frame to the corridor beyond, both siblings clinging to Ali's waist as tightly as they could. Ali could only keep a hand clamped over his face as he giggled, but Kaia was pale as a ghost... and starting to border on green.

"What in the..." Lena mumbled as she appeared out of the corridor behind them, running a hand through Ali's hair.

"Is he puking?" Omar asked, unable to suppress the fit of laughter.

"He barfed EVERYWHERE!" Bo chimed loudly with characteristically boyish delight and an adorable toothless grin. "And it was all RED like BLOOD!"

"Of course it was. Welp!" Omar slammed one hand down on the table and the other on his knee with purposeful enthusiasm, "Guess he's awake!" He stood and craned his spine around for a moment, easing a growing pressure in his lower back. "Now the fun part begins. By the way, missy," he waggled a finger at Rey, "I told you he'd puke, and I do believe you owe me twenty credits."

Gripped by sudden anxiety, Rey couldn't muster the will to even roll her eyes over the lost wager. She watched the doctor cross the commons to the old captain's chamber where he used the foot controls on the barrier to set a timer for a few seconds - just enough to allow him time to slip through safely. She gripped the side of the table so hard her knuckles grew stiff and white before she felt another warm hand smooth over them, noticing her scarcely concealed unease.

"Well, good morning, sunshine!" she heard Omar greet his patient with his typical sarcastic brand of false cheerfulness. Rey found herself praying for his life.

"Doesn't he know who he's talking to?"

"He knows," Finn stated blandly.

"He's gonna get himself kil-"

"Come on, kids," Rey heard Lena call from the corridor, "if you sweet talk Chewie, you might get him to help you build a fort out of those crates." Sensing danger on the sudden cold draft of tension in the air, the children made no argument as they turned and obediently followed her. Ali lingered for only a moment, drawn by his curiosity and a sympathetic affinity for the man in the other room... but ultimately he chose to walk away on the side of caution.

Thank the holy Maker. Watching them retreat to safety, Rey finally felt a fraction of the tightness building in her chest abate for just a second - just long enough for her to release the breath she'd been holding. Finn's hand gave hers a little squeeze.

"I'm going to take the pad to Rose. She... she knows things. She's got this, uh, this wisdom about the world, and she's good at picking out patterns. But if he decides to fling the doctor's body out the -"

Finn was once again interrupted, but this time by a shrill alarm from the holo projector alerting them to an incoming transmission.

"Well this is just about the worst timing ever," Finn groaned, sliding a hand across his forehead and massaging his temples with his fingertips. "Who is it -"

"Oh kriff, it's Poe..." Rey muttered through her hands as her face collapsed into them. "It's Poe, I just know it is..."

"I can handle him, Rey - do you want me to talk to him?"

"No," she answered her friend, peering up at him helplessly. "If Rose really can help us decipher what's so important on that datapad, then that's our first priority. We need every bit of help we can get. I'll..." she gulped and felt her stomach burning.

"Now, just take it easy, man, just take it easy - you're gonna hurt yourself," she heard Omar pleading in the other room.

"Stars, I'll just... I'll deal with Poe," she finished. "And then I'll rescue Omar."

"If you need me..."

"I know, and I will. Go on."

She watched her friend disappear down the corridor before she took a deep breath and pressed the button on the holoprojector.

"So..." Poe began, his voice filling the room mere seconds before the machine could draw his image out of the white-blue static above it, "I, uh... I couldn't help but notice we're suddenly a little, uh..." as he spoke, Rey couldn't stop herself from twisting her hands behind her back, fidgeting restlessly, "a little tight on cargo space."

Son of a sarlacc pit. They were here. Already. Dumbstruck, all she could manage was a simple, "... Yes."

"Seems we got ourselves a new ship, yeah?" he smiled easily, cocking his head while leaning on one hip.

"Um... y-yes."

"First Order, too. Sensing a theme here. We, uh... we're starting kind of a weird collection, aren't we?"

"I can see how it might seem that way, yes."

"Yeah, a little weird, yeah. Okay, so, speaking of weird..." he rubbed the bridge of his nose before he waved a finger in the air, "and forgive me if I'm wrong here, because I could be really, really wrong, but that ship bears a striking resemblance to Kylo Ren's personal TIE fighter, don't you think?" At this he turned to Maz and used his finger to point in a direction Rey couldn't see - presumably at their own hangar bay. "It does, doesn't it?"

"It does," Maz answered as she clutched her hands together and lowered her head with a knowing, self-bemused smile.

"Yeah, it really does. That's a little weird, right?"

Rey scuffled one foot behind the other ankle and swung her hips for a moment, resigned to her own guilt. It was time to confess.

"It _is_ Kylo Ren's personal TIE fighter," she said.

"Oh!" Poe replied, clapping his hands together. "Okay, great! Now we're getting somewhere! Okay. So... you know it's in my parking spot, then?"

"We were hoping maybe we could figure out how to -"

"Rey," he interrupted her and leaned on his console, his face a little darker than she remembered, although it could have been a trick of the holoprojector. "That's Kylo Ren's personal TIE fighter in our hangar bay, Rey. _Kylo Ren's_. Personal. TIE fighter."

"I... I know... I put it there."

"You put...! Oh man..." He squeezed the bridge of his nose again and clamped his eyes shut as if he was praying for a sudden brain aneurysm to put him out of his misery. "Rey. Does Kylo Ren _know_ we have his personal TIE fighter?!"

"I, um... I don't know yet."

"You don't know yet."

She smoothed her sweaty palms over the legs of her pants.

"He, uh... he just woke up." She grit her teeth together in her best attempt at a disarming smile, the vision of purity and innocence, as Poe could only stare at her in return, slack-jawed as if she'd sprouted another head. He started to breathe funny. He looked to Maz, whose face was still insufferably set in a know-it-all grin, before his eyes just fell to the ground. For a moment he looked like he might cry or panic, but then he just started to... to laugh. It was a high, raspy, mad sort of frightened laugh that was more gasping for air than anything.

"Just woke up, eh? Just taking a nap, is he?!"

"Now, don't be silly, of course not! He was nearly -"

"Rey! Are you saying that Kylo Ren is _on our ship_?!"

"Yes," she answered firmly. "He's our prisoner now."

"Our prisoner?! What in the... how does... Rey! I only left for two days!"

"A whole two days?!" Omar laughed from somewhere behind her as he crossed to the mess unit to grab a towel and a cup of water. "Have you met these guys?! They can screw up a perfectly solid plan in less than five minutes! Trust me, I've seen it, I know." He stuffed a stale soda cracker in his mouth before he stepped back into the old captain's chambers. "Hah... two days..."

"I know what this looks like," Rey began, silencing Poe as he opened his mouth to protest. "He's here because he's left the First Order."

"And you believe him?"

"He left," she continued, ignoring him, "to save the life of a little boy, and to bring us a datapad of information."

"What sort of information?"

"We don't know yet, we're trying to make sense of it, but he says it's important."

"Important to who...?"

"To anyone willing to fight Hux. You don't understand, Poe," she told him as she began to relax, settling into the truth like a sturdy armchair, "he nearly died trying to get this to us. He was nearly sliced in half by an army of machines - Ali described them as something none of us have ever seen before, and I've seen a lot of old war scrap left behind by the Empire's defeat on Jakku. And I have never seen anything like what Ali described."

"So... why come to us? He hates us... he tried to vaporize us on Crait, his mother and all. He knows we have no vested interest in keeping him alive... why come here?"

"Because he can't do this alone," she replied, her hands held out before her. "Hux has something, Poe - an artifact or something. Something completely devastating - something we don't understand. It's called... the Engine... the something Engine..."

"What was that?" Maz interjected suddenly, her lips parted as she gripped Poe's arm and crowded herself up against their projector lens. "Did you say Engine?"

"Yes... the, the something Engine..." Rey responded.

"The... Infinite Engine?"

"Yes! Yes, that's it!"

"Yes..." Maz breathed as the color drained from her face, and the whites of her eyes shone behind her spectacles.

"It's something so awful," Rey continued, "that even Kylo Ren was afraid of it... afraid of it enough to come to us for help. He risked his life to get this information to us... he risks his life being on this ship. I..." she threw her hands in the air and let them slap against her sides, "I have to take him at his word for now. He's not with the First Order, and he's not off doing whatever he wants across the galaxy - he's here with us. Contained. And I think it's worth seeing what he has to say."

"She's right," Maz spoke up, her voice hollow and cold with fear. "Take us back to Tython," she told Poe with urgency before she turned back to Rey, "and meet us there. We must speak with Ben Solo immediately."

"Not immediately!" Omar called from the other room. "It's, uh... it's gonna take me a while to clean up this m- hey! You put that down! I just saved your life, son, you could show some gratitude! You behave yourself, and I'll even think about getting you some pants!"


	15. Ch 15: Courage

**Chapter 15: Courage**

"Why am I naked?"

It was too late to turn around. She only had two seconds to get through the barrier and she had too much forward momentum. So in that tiny pulse of time Rey resigned herself to the possibility that she might face a naked man inside the old captain's bedchamber.

Well... more naked than she'd seen him before.

To her great and prudent relief, Ben Solo was very much squirming around in his bed in obvious discomfort, but was doing so under the coarse and chafing confines of a rough-hewn, utilitarian brown woolen blanket.

"Droids are precise to a fault," Omar muttered absentmindedly at his bedside while holding a bag of orangey, rust-colored fluid to the light to inspect it, "but I doubt they have the skill to saw you in half while miraculously missing your clothing. Here, have these incinerated," he said to Rey as he used his other hand to toss her a bundle of some kind of damp, grimy, foul-smelling material. Caught off guard, her foot slipped on something still wet, causing her to catch the bundle poorly. It inadvertently came apart in her hands and a couple of dark, limp scraps fell to the floor with soft, audibly laden plops.

It took her a moment to realize that they were bloody.

"Is... is this...?"

"A shirt? Maybe. Used to be anyway, your guess is as good as mine. There something you need? We're kind of in the middle of something here."

"I, uh," she stammered, pink rising to her cheeks as she remembered the naked man in the room. She started gathering up the loose bundle of torn, bloody clothing while limiting how much residue got smeared on her own tunic and forearms. "I thought I heard, I mean, I just... I came to see what- "

"You came to rescue me?" Omar laughed, jutting a thumb over his shoulder toward the bed behind him. "From him?!"

Rey wasn't sure that was something so terribly unbelievable. While she still struggled sometimes with naivety born purely out of inexperience and a childhood spent in isolation, she truly believed herself to be an otherwise pretty sane and rational individual.

"My patient? In recovery?! Hah! He may like to puff out his chest and put on a big scary act," Omar went on, focusing once more on the bag of liquid, squinting his eyes as if searching for something, "but he's not stupid. He knows I'm in the process of saving his life."

Ben Solo could only rest his forehead against the wall beside him and roll his eyes. It wasn't the first time people had talked about him like he wasn't in the room. He still had a look of pale, exsanguinated exhaustion about him - his eyelids blinked too slowly and his stare seemed a bit too far away. He still sported a mask of purpled bruise across half of his face - one that was starting to turn different and awful shades of green and yellow in small splotches. Bacta patches covered the exposed areas of his chest and shoulders, and peeking out from beneath them Rey could clearly see the telltale signs of healing lacerations and burns.

"You thought he was just gonna..." Omar used a finger to thump the bag with little forceful flicks, as if he was trying to dislodge something that might be hiding in the seams, "just gonna bolt on outta here at the first chance?"

Rey continued to look at Ben as he refused to look at her... or anyone else. Her mind flashed with images the way an old grainy holovid would - scenes from her own misspent youth, and his. The things that bound them in parallel. They had both been ripped away from a past that was not of their own choosing and thrust into a fate that was beyond their own design. Through their bond she could feel it, she knew it - they both, at times, felt less as if they were autonomous living beings, and more as if they were merely instruments of a greater, more powerful Cosmic Force. Puppets. Tools to be used and then maybe discarded. She would never say that out loud to anyone, and the Force she knew was purely benevolent, but...

She too, many times, felt a vacuum in her core... an absence of where her free will should live. She wondered, as he did, if such a thing even existed in the first place.

She could feel from him, drifting toward her like a piece of driftwood bobbing on dark turbulent waves, the loss of his faith in Fate. Something in him had broken... more than just a collar bone and an arm. More than just the rips and tears in his flesh. More than just the deaths of his loved ones. Something had happened up on that ship. Something that had broken his spirit. What remained of it. Rey peered into one of those dark waves and let it touch her. She listened intently and let it speak to her - that thin cry, skirling from the depths like a dying siren's song. And she found herself curiously in envy of his pain... just once. Because suffering that pain allowed him to give up his belief... and grab onto Choice with a stranglehold.

And with Choice... came a wish for freedom. A freedom neither of them even knew how to define.

"His ship is a deck below," she stated plainly, as if baiting a trap. She watched his face for any sign of a reaction. She watched his muscles for any movement, any pull of tension - any sign of preparation for flight. "And beyond it," she chose to finish with the only two words she could think of that could most genuinely evoke the hunger for escape, "...the stars."

But nothing happened. He barely blinked. If anything, his hair clung to the wall with damp persistence as his face slid down its length to sink toward his chest. Something had definitely happened to him on that ship, alright. A fire within him had gone out. Or perhaps freedom now meant something different than riding the solar wind on the wings of a fast starship.

"Oh, he's not cleared to go anywhere," Omar told the room with firm medical authority. The tone in his voice was still resounding between their ears as he jiggled the bag in his hands, sloshing the contents inside it. "Not until there's no more blood in this urine."

In this... in this what now?

That made Ben Solo move.

With a flash of movement out of the corner of her eye, so fast Rey almost didn't even catch it, Ben yanked up a corner of his blanket to more fully investigate the situation beneath.

"Oh wait! You did, didn't you!" Omar began to laugh as he threw his head back and pointed at Rey. "Oh... oh no! No!" he bellowed with laughter as his eyes began to water. "Oh Holy Makers if - if you could just... just see," he turned a finger over in the air before wiping away a tear, "just see the image in my mind, just now, I just... oh stars, I just can't..."

"Y-you..." Ben coughed, his voice still rough from his previous wails and gasps for air. With petulant gloom, he let the blanket slip from his fingers to droop back to where it belonged. "You cathed me."

"Of course I did!" the doctor responded incredulously as he got a hold of himself. "It's probably safe to assume you haven't wet a bed since you were in diapers, and a big guy like yourself can piss a whole lot more than a toddler can. Plus, do I need to describe to you what can happen when a coagulating blood clot seals a urethra shut?"

"No..." Ben whispered as he watched the bag of urine sail around like a bright orange flag. His face would have whitened if it weren't for the embarrassment that colored him with a much more healthful blush.

"Oh girl, if you could see your face!" Omar rounded on Rey, still laughing and looking a little crazy. "You did! You thought he'd just take off running! Just like that!"

Or course she did. She and Finn had just had a long, fruitful conversation about that very thing. They'd even begun a contingency plan - one serious enough to enact safety protocols for the remaining occupants on the ship.

"Just punch my card and blow the whistle!" Omar continued, flinging a hand in the air. "Just crush this barrier like a cheap plaything and streak out of here buck naked to beat a straight line for that ship," he slung the bag of urine around once more, "trailing _this_ thing behind him out the end of his pecker like some sort of weird kite?!"

Ben Solo could only fling his head back into his pillow and search the ceiling for help, wishing to be transported anywhere else.

Rey covered her mouth with her hands for a moment before she pinched her lips between her fingers and even bit her own tongue. In spite of her best attempts, she was helpless to stop it as it burst from within her. She laughed. And she felt like a traitor.

"I know!" Omar told her. "It's funny, isn't it?"

"Not really," Ben groaned.

"Oh, relax, Sunshine. I realize this isn't exactly the lap of luxury a Supreme Leader is used to, but you've got a warm, dry bed, all the bland, standard issue nutrient paste you can choke down yer ungrateful gullet, and right now, no one's trying to kill you. But just in case you get any ideas, you should know there's a balloon at the end of that catheter... and I don't think I need to tell you which end."

Ben hopelessly pressed his face back against the wall with prolonged and mortified indignity. He was the very pinnacle of abject misery, and he drew his imperious state of somber silence over him like a tired, second blanket.

"See?" Omar said as he once again turned to Rey after finally disposing of the offending bag, securing in its place a fresh replacement. "This situation was already under control, and I appreciate your concern - this ship is clearly in good hands. But I was a married man once. I learned the hard way how to stop a man from doing something you don't want him to do." He stowed a few leftover medical items in a desk drawer that mostly likely was once used for a datapad and maybe a power converter. He approached her next and took the wadded bundle of mess from her hands.

"You hold his penis hostage.

"And before you get too cozy," he teased her as he turned to leave the room, "I would like a word, if you get a minute. Outside." After that, the doctor tucked his load under his arm and left them.

Alone.

Alone for the first time since Churruma. And that had been the first time since... since when? Since the Supremacy? Maybe? She thought so, maybe. Certainly alone for the first time since he'd told her he couldn't see her again.

Couldn't see her and let her live.

Couldn't let her live and expect to survive, himself.

In fact, in all the time they'd known each other - through all of that rage-fueled combat, the uninvited bond through the Force, the harsh dissonance amidst quiet moments of anxiety... their timid inhibition... even some small attempts at conversation... they'd truly spent very little time alone in each other's physical company.

And now... here they were. Alone.

With a whole future ahead of them that they thought they had foreseen, yet they now both knew was completely unexplored. She couldn't decide who felt more naked.

"I hate him," the actual naked man whispered to the room, graciously breaking a silence that had begun to turn awkward.

"Everyone hates Omar," Rey responded honestly as she kept her eyes glued to the open space of the commons area beyond the corridor. She could feel Ben's surprise without looking at him.

"What?" she shrugged as she finally turned and met his eyes. "You think _you're_ the most loathsome creature on this ship?" Nope, this was too weird. She couldn't talk to him until she knew he had pants. "Well, congratulations... _Sunshine_ ," she beamed a nervous smile to him as she edged her way uncomfortably toward the door, "things aren't looking so bad anymore, now are they?"

* * *

"It's probably best to remain inconspicuous," buzzed a tinny, electronic voice in the commons outside, once the barrier had zapped back into place behind her. It was coming from the pixelated figure of Poe drawn in the air above the holoprojector. "News of Ren's defection is all over the holonet down here right now. If the Order isn't looking for him then it's bounty hunters, and Tython is too close to Prakith for reasonable suspicion, with all of his mother's contacts. I wouldn't bring that ship anywhere near here - not with the TIE Silencer in its hangar bay."

"We can take the catamaran," Finn replied as Rey met his shoulder at the holoprojector. "We can get Chewie to dip us into atmo just long enough to let us out, unless you think that's too dangerous."

"This is a Republic core world," Poe answered him, "I think I've still got enough pull with the Port Authority to probably secure a drop like that without any questions asked. It's what happens when you're on the ground that has me worried."

"The catamaran is faster and more agile than any starship down below," Rey reassured the General, "and can even give a good speeder a run for its credits. If we get into a situation, the Zephyr will get us out."

But... suddenly something didn't feel right. Didn't he just say this was a core world...? They were Resistance fighters - shouldn't this be safe harbor? What kind of situation was he really anticipating once the freighter - and with it, Kylo Ren and his personal TIE fighter - were safely away and hidden from immediate view?

"And I don't think Ren's ever been seen in public without his mask," Finn supplied, flopping a hand out in front of him as he spoke. "It's possible he's not so easily recognizable."

Wait... what?!

"Woah! Wait - what?!" Omar cried as he reentered the room, the words leaping from his mouth before they could come out of Rey's. He was so shocked he nearly dropped the new bundle of more pleasant, much fresher-looking clothing he was carrying in his hands. "No no no no - my patient still needs at least three more days of bacta and bed rest! If he moves now, his incisions could rupture then we're stuck doing minor surgery planetside. I thought the goal was to avoid drawing attention?!"

"Doctor, I assure you I fully understand the risks we're taking here," Poe addressed him, though his mildly amateur attempt at diplomacy felt weak, "but I wouldn't insist we take them if it weren't completely necessary."

"Well then, son, it sounds to me like you and I have got two conflicting versions of what the word 'necessary' means."

"Look," Poe grit through his teeth, visibly swallowing his temper, "symantics aside, we all know what he's doing on your ship, and I would hope we all know what's at stake."

"Spare me the lecture -"

"There's information that lives inside his head and nowhere else! We can't fit all of us on the freighter - not when there's no feasible place in the known galaxy where we can safely offload a First Order officer shuttle AND the TIE kriffing Silencer without drawing suspicion!"

"But," Rey asked, "what about Arturo -"

"No! No way!" Poe sliced a hand through the air with fervor. "There's no way I'm taking Kylo Ren there, prisoner or not. If there's one place in this whole universe that has to remain verifiably safe, that has to be it. Face it - we have a prisoner to interrogate, and there is no other choice."

"And I'm guessing you've already considered the holoprojector..."

"We're already talking too openly about it this on this channel. And we're wasting time. The faster we rendevous, the faster we can go to ground and establish a more secure base for operations here."

"Plus," called a voice from Poe's hip as Maz stepped around him and into view, "we both know, Omar Entero, that you have contacts you'd prefer to get in touch with, with regards to your more pressing set of priorities, and after your recent adventure you have a medical bay to restock."

"We have a whole Resistance to restock," Poe agreed, "and we have a datapad full of credits and contacts, courtesy of Rey," he dipped his head toward her, "and Lando Calrissian. And we have a great big freighter that will be waiting for our signal. Let's... get this hard part over with, and then we get to do a little shopping, yeah?"

That part was... true. It was - it was true. Rey lifted her chin and straightened with a little pride, delivering her General a curt nod and her ultimate assent. While there was a large part of her that blamed herself for their current predicament, she had been quick to overlook her greatest success. In spite of the loss of the Millennium Falcon, she had delivered the means by which the Resistance could find another leg to stand upon... and she'd shown up in an even bigger freighter.

She couldn't ignore, however, the tender thrum - the tiny palpitation that struck a silver chord within her heart. It had rung like a tiny, clear, and shining sterling bell the moment her fingers had laced themselves through Ben Solo's soft, dark, bloodsoaked hair where it had landed in her lap on Prakith. It was the same thing that happened every time the universe, or Fate, or the Force, or whatever bade them touch - it was something pure and ethereal and emotional and unexplainable... and something too terrifying to look in the eye and name. And it was also as reckless as it was irresponsible.

Because now they would have to draw their two paths together, truly together, for the first time. And she feared for the innocents who would suffer in their wake.

* * *

Rey sat alone as still and quiet as a sentinel, waiting patiently in the low light of the commons while staring anxiously at the closed door behind the golden energy barrier. The atypical dim signified they were entering power conservation mode - there was no need to run at full capacity when the greater bulk of the crew compliment was going ashore. The soft grey lighting should have been enough to lull her; in ordinary circumstances she found the ambiance comforting and cozy, but this time it was not enough to quell the acid churning in her stomach.

This was dangerous. Anything could happen. But this was war. It was still war.

She listened to Omar grouse loudly behind the closed door as he prepared Ben Solo for travel, and she turned her gaze to the three objects that rested on the table in front of her. The first was a pair of datapads - one containing a ledger of contacts and credits generously donated at great personal risk by the Resistance's oldest friend, Lando Calrissian. The other was the one that managed to make its way off of the First Order flagship in the hands of an innocent ten year old boy, containing sensitive data collected by none other than the treasonous Supreme Leader himself... also at great personal risk.

The second item on the table was the one that distressed her the most: the cleanly bisected legacy Skywalker lightsaber. She remembered the first time she'd used it, watching the snowflakes in the forest on Starkiller Base sizzle in its humming periphery. She'd felt off-balance when she'd swung it, having grown more accustomed to the crude staff she'd cobbled together from odds and ends like raw piping, coupling manifolds, and heavy pieces of hull plating. That staff was hers and had gotten the job done just fine, and it still felt as natural to her as one of her own arms... but it was nowhere near as fearsome and effective as a very famous lightsaber.

She could still see Ben Solo captured perfectly in her memory the very moment the saber broke. The way his face had been drawn - the wide gleam of his eyes, the tight clench of his jaw, alight in the glow of a suffering kyber crystal... the clear sting of betrayal and fear had been brandished across his features like a burn. The betrayal of a belief in a future that was suddenly uncertain, and a fear of the unknown that followed close behind. Perhaps even the fear of a fall such as this - to fall from such a height, from the seat of a monarch, to then plummet headlong into this humiliating rock bottom only to wind up so... alone. To be utterly at the mercy of his own primal survival instincts, clinging to the need to snarl and snap in distrust at every living being in the galaxy if he wanted to remain alive.

To live on the knife edge between fight or flight.

Rey knew that life well, the life of base survival. It had been her childhood. She'd been molded by her own will to live - by her own hungers, her thirsts, her illnesses, her tears, her fears... her every strange sound that woke her in the night. Every person on this ship was a hungry pack of burrowing sand scarabs to him - every flash of movement or sudden noise was the dark squall line of a rolling dust storm. And when it had been just her, her staff had suited her perfectly like a faithful and dutiful companion. But now it wasn't just her. It was her... and him. And she may still need to fight him. She really wished she had that lightsaber. Which... uncannily... lead her to the third item on the table.

Kylo Ren's cross-shaped lightsaber.

This one she chose to pick up and hold. She'd held it in her hands before, had even managed an opportunity to try to swing it, but the moment had been brief. This time she meant to linger - meant to truly appreciate every lethal ounce of its heft, to savor every stroke of her fingers along its length, this most intimate and deadly extension of her greatest enemy... and perhaps her strangest friend.

The surface of the hilt was rough in places, and not something she'd want to spend a lot of time wielding without gloves to protect her hands. The thing had ridges and hard edges, and there were areas where the metal had been cut away to expose bare wiring tracing a path from its core to parts unknown, if not to the blade's unusual and iconic crossguard. Those side vents, themselves, were intimidating - she felt lucky she hadn't held his saber long on the Supremacy, as someone better experienced spinning a staff. She had trouble imagining how he didn't sever his own hands every time he twirled the thing in one of his signature arcs.

But it was a perfect, fitting effigy to its owner. Looking more closely at it, she could even see how the hilt had been... something else before it had been transformed into the state it was currently in. Through her careful inspection, she discovered to her surprise that the weapon was in fact a different color beneath the surface that mired it in mystery. It appeared to have been tarnished deeply over time... or even burnt. Either way it had been blackened, perhaps by use or perhaps by... other means.

What truly struck her, though, was how heavy the thing felt. It wasn't that it weighed terribly much - in all honesty, the thing had only marginally more mass than her own saber. But it still managed to convey a deep sense - a feeling - of heaviness. Of gravity.

And it hurt.

Not the jagged parts pitting dents or drawing small scratches into her skin. It wasn't a pain she, herself, felt. It was the saber. It was like the thing was soaked in sadness, forged by a pain that was not her own. The longer she held it, the more she could feel it cry. And it was a cry she'd heard before.

The cry she'd heard as she'd stared into Ben Solo's anguished eyes on the Seat of the Supremacy. The cry of consternation that had rippled through the Force as they'd grasped the edges of the chasm between them and ripped it open even wider. The pleading cry of sorrow from a broken crystal.

Before the feeling could fully engulf her, she slammed the saber back down on the table. She didn't know how he could manage to withstand it. How could he possibly stand to hold that thing? Unless the pain was a mirror of his own... and he was simply desensitized to it. But it begged the question: which pain came first, the man or the blade? Everything about Ben Solo was like a tangled knot that she was slowly and patiently beginning to unravel, one string at a time. She was certain of one thing, though - in spite of the frailties he wore openly on his surface, Ben Solo embodied a frightening strength deep within him that was as hard as tempered steel.

And it was born from the fires of his courage. The courage to walk away from the Jedi, from his family and his legacy, and now again from the Sith - from everything he'd ever known. To walk away from Snoke, to leave behind the life of servitude that gave him his only purpose. The courage to blaze his own path, even if it walked him straight into the belly of his enemy.

She'd mustered that courage herself once. It was the same path she'd walked when she left Jakku.

A faint swish put an end to her train of thought. The door to the old captain's bedchamber had slid open. Omar nodded wordlessly to her as he bent to power down and collect the device giving life to the energy barrier. It only took her a moment to scoop the contents on the table back into her satchel before she slung it over her shoulder and secured the strap on her staff across her chest. She stuck out her right hip and checked the charge level on her blaster, finding it sufficient for... whatever may transpire. And then she turned to the last item resting on the table - the one she forced herself not to look at until she had to.

It was a pair of durasteel stun cuffs.

Omar stepped to one side and ushered his patient out of the chamber with a swift brush of two fingers against the small of his back. And then, before she knew it and faster than she was prepared, Rey found herself once more standing face to face with the substantial and imposing form of Ben Solo.

He was wearing clothing recycled from the previous captain, who had been forced to leave his belongings behind when he'd been remanded to the proper authorities for trafficking and slavery... amongst other equally lascivious charges. They smelled faintly of the fragrant detergent soap used in the 'fresher unit - something clean and light and much more befitting a man of Ben's stature and station. His long tunic was made from a soft grey, high-quality linen, but was cinched at the waist by a familiar black belt - the only part of his previous adornment that survived his assault mostly unscathed. And the pants he was now thankfully wearing were as dark a black as his belt. In all, Rey had to admit, now that he was clean and dressed and on two feet, however unsteady they may be... he looked nice.

For a brief moment she forced herself to peer up into his face to try to make eye contact. Her insides fluttered with relief, however, when he refused her the same courtesy. Instead he kept his shoulders taut and square, kept his chin high and mighty... but he kept the drowning void in his eyes downcast to the floor.

She could still feel his emotions, radiating from him like body heat the closer she stood. She listed and compartmentalized them as she clicked the cuffs into place one after the other - first over the splint on his right arm, followed then by his left. There was anger, but there was always anger. This time, though, the anger had chosen a different direction, one that was hard for her to follow, like trying to watch a bird dart through a stand of trees. There was bitterness and loneliness and sorrow and grief, but there was also now that new loss - the one she sensed earlier, and it was swaddled in a thick coating of hubris and shame. They all made up a rocky shore that wrenching despair crashed against in ceaseless, hammering waves. But drifting out on that sea was another piece of floating flotsam, and she thought it felt like resignation.

There was no way out but through.

That resignation didn't protect him, however, from the fear that still lurked in the fathoms below like a dark, circling shadow.

She didn't know what compelled her to do it. Maybe it was the fear, or any one of those others. She didn't even know she had done it until she felt the warmth of his hands in her own. But once she let go of the cuffs, having clasped them onto the wrists of her prisoner... she slid her fingers around to take hold of his and she curled them both together. Within the span of a single heartbeat, his eyes were on hers. And she didn't look away. She merely breathed a sigh to steady herself and drew her thumbs across the tight peaks of his knuckles. To Omar, it appeared as if they were only sharing a glance. But between she and Ben Solo, it was much more.

"Courage," she reminded him, through the private yet echoing sound chamber of their bond. "Forget faith, for a moment," it felt a sacrilege to say, "and remember your courage - you've come this far. Your courage is your strength."

His nostrils flared as he worked his jaw for a moment and swallowed. She thought she might have felt him squeeze her fingers in return, but the pressure was so light it could also have been a figment of her imagination.

"I'm ready," was all he said to her, though his acquiescence seemed thin and false.

She let go of his hands and retreated two steps, signaling Omar to begin their procession toward the hangar bay.

"Let's go, buddy," Omar muttered, his voice warmed with a likely unintentional paternal polish. Ben Solo did as he was bid, and Rey followed close behind... her hand still uneasy on her blaster, and her stomach as unsettled as ever.

* * *

"Have you ever been to Tython?" Rose called down to Finn as she teetered precariously on the edge of the lift that held her aloft beneath the Silencer. He knew the conversation was an attempt to calm his nerves - he wasn't completely without the ability to read social cues. But it was hard to feel patronized by someone whose butt looked so cute in a pair of olive overalls. "I hear the region we're heading for on the Talss continent is really, really pret- ouch!" She jiggled the finger she'd just burnt on the tip of her soldering instrument before resuming her task, sifting through the charred wreckage of the semi-operational craft, doing her best to avoid sparking live wires as she followed their circuitous pathways. "BeeBee," she commanded the eager little droid, "I need a little more light here please."

"I know other people who have been," Finn answered her from where he stood at the armory, charging blaster power packs and taking stock of their remaining gas cartridges. "But I never have. Outside of the Starkiller, the sum total of my combat experience pretty much took place in the Outer Rim."

"I've never been either," Rose mumbled with her tool in her mouth while her nimble fingers deftly twisted around a tattered cord of dead cables, "but the holonet says it's pretty much nothing but mountains and waterfalls and spectacular sunsets."

"Huh... sounds like a nice place to spend some quiet time when this is all over."

"Thaaaaat's what I'm saying."

For a long, introspective moment Finn relished the image that formed in his mind of goosebumps working their way up her pale skin, and the water fanning her black hair while they skinny-dipped beneath the surface of a cool, glassy alpine lake. But to regain his focus on the task at hand, he held up one of the gas cartridges to the harsh, hangar bay lights to give it a long, thoughtful look. Swirling around inside it was a tiny, misty, shapeless nebula of refined tibanna gas. Seemingly as guileless as a puff of smoke, it was the very thing driving most of the conflict that landed them where they currently were.

"It's funny," he mumbled more to himself than anyone else, "this stuff doesn't look like much more than just... air. But there are people out there willing to take on the entire First Order because of resources like this. They have no idea what they're up against."

But Finn knew. The First Order was nearly as infinite as the Engine that allowed them their most recent push for power. So infinite it couldn't afford their soldiers the basic luxury of a name. So vast that the suffocating vice grip of tyrannical communism was the only way to manage it all. And soon it would be as vast as the entire galaxy itself. Sometimes Finn wondered why he left, to align himself ultimately with an entity that only served to oppose such insurmountable odds. To the very certain death. He wasn't sure he had enough courage to fit in here. But someone had to.

"What was tha- oh..." Rose asked him from her perch before her voice trailed off.

"Hmm?"

Finn turned to see her gaping at the door, her eyes wide and her lips parted. Flanked by his entourage, the prisoner, Kylo Ren, had just entered the hangar bay.

Until Churruma, the only time Finn had ever seen Kylo Ren so close was on Jakku, during the sacking of the village of Tuanul. And, of course, on the Starkiller... but really there wasn't much he remembered of that encounter outside of a brief skirmish, some flashes of light... and then waking up in the med bay of the Raddus encased in the wet shell of a bacta suit. The scars on his back still itched at the very sight of the man. But in spite of the foreboding feeling of frigid fury that still seemed to roll off of him like a cold fog, and the fact that the Wookiee was the only thing taller than him on the entire ship, he still seemed somewhat... smaller. Diminished, maybe... or bent. Broken.

Certainly no longer the lap dog of an evil master. Only the barest glimmer remained of the bloodthirsty warrior - the terrifying and fanatic enforcer brainwashed into the service of an oppressive dictatorial regime. Perhaps he was still weakened by the state of his recent wounds. Or perhaps he wasn't handling his newfound independence very well... although Finn supposed it was hard to feel terribly independent with stun cuffs chafing dull marks into his wrists. Either way, Finn found himself feeling less of the knee-buckling fear he'd anticipated feeling in Ren's chilly presence, and more... pity.

Rose's soft footfalls rang hollow against the shroud of solemnity and finality in the air as she made her descent from the lift. It was like they were watching the march of a condemned man heading off to the gallows. Finn could still remember the mortal lance of dread that had shot down his own spine the first time he confessed to having been a First Order Stormtrooper. He'd feared he might have ended up implicated as a spy, or lynched as an act of vengeance for the atrocities the Order had committed against so many innocent people. He wanted to say he couldn't imagine what it would be like to be Kylo Ren right now... but found he couldn't say that at all.

"Wow," Rose whispered to him when she reached his side, "he is huge... no wonder people are afraid of him."

But then the atmosphere changed in a flash. At the same time Finn heard stomping footsteps from behind his right shoulder, Ren jerked reflexively against his bonds. Rey grabbed his shoulder, her breath catching in her throat. Her foot slipped behind her, causing her to stumble backwards a step as the hulking frame of Chewbacca bore down on them faster than they could react. To his credit, Ren had the decency to at least try to look like a man who was about to have his arms ripped off by an angry and rapidly advancing Wookiee. Chewbacca roared murderously into the face of their wisely cowering prisoner before he pulled back one great, hairy arm and launched his fist.

"Wait!" Rey cried, doing her best to catch her charge as he collapsed to one knee under the weight of the blow. Ren grunted - hard - and a spray of fresh blood sprinkled crimson droplets all over the toes of Rey's boots.

"Dammit, you giant, half-wit idiot!" Omar screamed. "He's already got a head injury! You can't just kill him - he's worth more to us alive!"

"NO!" came another thin cry from near the dry storage lockers against the wall. Ali had dropped the box of field rations he was counting and had come running. "No you can't!"

But before the boy could reach them, Chewbacca had already pulled the limp and swaying form of Kylo Ren back to his feet... and straight into his arms. The force of his loving embrace had lifted Ren a whole inch and a half off of the floor. He ignored his feeble attempts to fight him off as he completely encircled him, clamping one arm tightly around his waist and smashing the other against the back of his head as he pressed the man face-first into his own chest. Ali slid to a stop and stared in confusion, unable to assist his would-be mentor as he watched him get absolutely smothered by the love of an adult male Wookiee.

"Berrkerrr..." was all that could be heard from within the depths of Chewbacca's thick pelt. "Berrkerrr... shterrrp." Chewie continued to rumble with raw, emotional adoration as he weaved the fingers of his mighty paw through Ren's hair, twisting it around and around into tangled mats as he caressed the circumference of his whole head.

Finn met Rey's eyes. Her hand was still rubbing her forehead as she fought down the sudden surge of adrenaline, but once the color started to return to her face she smiled at him and managed a small laugh.

"Berrkerrr... plerrrszz..." came Ren's muffled plea once more.

Chewie only mewled softly at him and rocked him back and forth, feet still dangling. Finn didn't have much more than a fledgling grasp on the Wookiee language, but he thought he caught the word, "home."

"Berrkerrr... plerz purt mer durrrn. Er cern't brrth."

Chewbacca finally relented, placing Ren's feet down onto the firm plating of the hangar bay deck. He turned to accept a long, dark object from Omar while Ren recovered, coughing and sputtering and wobbling about like a dizzy drunkard. Ren hacked up one last cough and spit out a wad of blood mixed with Wookiee hair and then he sneezed twice, the sharp consonant of it ricocheting off the wide cavernous walls. The stunned silence that followed was stark by contrast. Only Ren's bloody sniffling could be heard. It was strange the way something as simple as a sneeze could humanize a creature like Kylo Ren.

Omar's dark object turned out to be a long hooded cloak that had obviously been left behind by one of the Twi'lek crew - the clasp that drew it together as Chewie attentively draped it across Ren's shoulders was one of their religious symbols, wrought into shape using a cheap but sturdy metal. Once he was fully enveloped in the soft, heavy cocoon of the cloak, Ren pulled the hood over his brow where it belonged and took the kerchief that Chewbacca had offered him to wipe his nose. With no more prompting needed other than body language, he allowed the Wookiee to take his arm and lead him toward the Twilight Zephyr. Omar and Rey lingered behind, watching with relief over a situation that, while not ideal, bore at least some bare facade of being handled.

"Well," Omar spoke up first, brushing a hand through his hair before it landed to rest on his hip, "no lie, I was a little concerned your General might suggest we have him executed after interrogating him... but I don't think we'll have to worry about that anymore - not under Uncle Wookiee's watchful eye. I still think this is a terrible idea, though."

"That makes two of us," Finn agreed, but not on Kylo Ren's behalf. Finn understood the First Order. They had the personnel available to seek and destroy deserters. Like himself. And a lot of those people were once considered to be his own comrades in arms. Innocent children stolen, weaponized, and then forced to fight a war they had no business fighting. They never had a choice. They never had a chance. And everywhere they took the fallen Supreme Leader they'd be hunted - every move they made brought Finn closer to firing on men and women who were still innocent... and at one time the only family he had. He took solace in knowing that their faces, at least, would be concealed within those bland, generic white helmets.

"That probably makes four of us," Rose added. "I really don't understand why we're risking taking him down to that planet... if Poe really wanted to know about the data that's on that datapad, he could have just asked me."

"Did you figure it out?" Finn asked her, his voice bright with a mixture of shock and pride.

"Well... I did see one thing in common across all of the items in the blueprints. I don't know if it's what we're looking for or not, but it's something. We can talk about it when we get down there I guess."

There was a tickle in Finn's belly that told him something was really, really off here. Something was wrong, there was something they were missing. It was understandable that Poe wouldn't want to discuss the stolen data over holonet channels. And it was also understandable that Ren might be considered a better source on the matter, with regards to gathering the information. And... it wasn't exactly outside the scope of Poe's personality and demeanor to sometimes take unnecessary risks. But Finn had come to know Poe - very, very well. And he knew that Poe knew Ben Solo was General Leia's son... which, differing philosophies aside, still meant something.

So if something didn't feel right here, there was likely a good reason.

"Rose, baby, are you taking a blaster?"

"I was assuming so, yes..."

"Do you know how to use it?"

"So it's not just me, then," Rey asked with a bit more force than she'd likely intended. Her brow furrowed as she watched Kylo Ren take his first step onto the wind catamaran. There was a pronounced look of old recognition that took root in the bruises beneath his eyes as he ran one cuffed hand along the vehicle's brassy railing. The glance he fired at Rey was nothing short of cold and accusatory. The Zephyr, after all, was yet one more thing she'd stolen from him.

"I plan on having a long conversation with your General," Omar told her.

"You surprise me, Omar," Rey told him, looking away from Ren to clap a hand on the doctor's shoulder as her eyes crinkled above one of her famous, twinkling, cherubic smiles. "For a while there, I thought _you_ thought he'd be better off dead on Prakith!"

"Yeah... about that..."

"You did say you wanted to talk to me," she reminded him.

"I do. I guess I just..." His shoulders dropped before he turned and sauntered away. They followed him as he slumped into a hard metal chair near the armory, resting the aching joints of his elbows onto the meat of his thighs. He tousled Ali's hair when the boy joined them, having collected his box of ration bars, ready to get back to work. "I've spent the last few years of my life building a career out of dealing with exploited children. I wish I could be everywhere at once, but I can't. Sometimes..." He rubbed his eyes wearily. "Sometimes there are kids who aren't so lucky, and if they grow up at all, they grow up to become exploited adults. I've seen it. Over and over. I know how their minds work, and I know what makes them crack. I know how far it has to go before they break. And adults are a lot more fragile than children.

"I know things are a bit mission critical right now but I'm asking you to just... to just, uh..." He used one hand to scratch at the ruddy, golden hair on his face. "I'm asking you to just... look out for that guy, okay? Go easy on him."

"Yeah, you know who that guy is, right?" Finn asked in disbelief, expecting to feel an unruly flare of temper but instead the effect fell strangely flat.

"I promise, I do."

"So you know who he's killed? You know what he's done?" More than anything, he really just wanted a reason to deny his own nagging sense of empathy.

"Look," Omar threw a hand out in front of him in perturbance, "I'm just as aware as the next guy, I promise. That's the same speech I gave her," he pointed at Rey, "on Prakith when she was begging me to save his life, if you'll recall. I know exactly who he is and what he's done. But most importantly I understand _why_.

"When you get to be my age, and you do the things I've done, go the places I've gone... you see a lot of the same eyes over and over. Eyes full of fear, eyes full of sadness, eyes full of guilt... and some are just empty.

"I see all of those things in his. Think about it - this guy had a bloodline, a legacy. This guy had real power - the kind we can't even imagine. And now he doesn't even own pants. Well... I mean... he has pants now, but you know what I mean.

"He's a prisoner. He's in pain, he has no family, no friends, no home. There's no one coming to his rescue. There are men - good men, and women - who would rather die than face odds like that. Yet he still found the courage to fight for his life - still found the courage to survive. He still found the courage to offer himself to us. His enemies. Defenseless.

"I'm not saying I'm ready to absolve him of his crimes... but I am saying I kind of admire him. Plus," he grunted as he rose to his feet, "he's still my patient, and he's still healing. I'd request the same for any of you. Just... just take it easy on him. There's no sense in kickin' a man while he's down, okay?"

"I promise you, Omar," Rey was quick to reassure the doctor, "I'm not going to let anything happen to him."

"Yeah? And what will you do if your General asks you to make something happen to him?"

Finn felt something in his gut tighten at the thought of his best friend putting his other best friend in such a position. The very idea just seemed... surreal. Nonsensical even.

"No," Finn said flatly. "No way. That's not Poe - that's not who he is. He wouldn't -"

"Can you be so sure, son? We all know that General Hux is using something we don't understand - has something so scary that even Kylo Ren fled for his life. With something so terrifying, you think your General isn't equally as scared? He should be." Omar slowly made his way to the door of the hangar bay to pick up his field box where he left it. "If he's as smart as you think he is, then he absolutely should be. Desperate times call for desperate measures and your General is desperate for information. What's one fallen pariah in the face of such an overwhelming galactic threat?"

He stuffed the box underneath his arm and scanned the armory where he found his own pair of blasters, their indicator lights blinking merrily as the weapons filled their charge capacity.

"And I'm not saying your General would be so desperate or cruel to stoop to torture as a means to gain the information he seeks," he continued, picking up one of the guns to prepare it for travel. "But I am saying we're taking Kylo Ren with us down to the surface of a Republic core planet. We need to keep our wits about us, and I think we need to arm ourselves with a healthy dose of realism."

While Finn found he couldn't disagree... he still couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to this situation that what lie on the surface. And then it hit him like a brick to the face - the question that had no satisfactory answer, the fly floating in the soup.

Why Tython? Out of an entire galaxy of destinations connected by a criss-crossed web of hyperlane routes, why not meet... anywhere else? Eliminating Arturo 24 as a good candidate made sense, but what about the nearly limitless multitude of other options? What was really waiting for them when they got there? Was it a trap? Was it... worse? Or were they just growing unnaturally paranoid after a few long months on the run?

Sadly... there was only one way to know. And like the doctor said, they could only prepare for the worst.

Finn pursed his lips, wiped his sweating palms on his pants... and took his blaster down from the wall. It was time to go.


	16. Ch 16: The Temple (Part One)

**Chapter Sixteen - The Temple (Part One)**

Hux stood on the bridge of the ship where he belonged, a starlit corona outlining his profile against the massive viewport. It was only proper if he wished to observe, direct, and convey his authority. It put him amongst his people. Amongst his ranks. He had no need for ostentatious trappings like silken waistcoats or scented meditation candles or gawdy, ridiculous thrones. And while the Vindicator had been outfitted with a throne room, having been thrown together from only a moderately upgraded version of the Supremacy's design, that absurd and vacuous waste of space was currently in the process of being retrofitted to house a laboratory, a testing area, and adjoining office spaces dedicated to accommodating a larger research and development team.

He blinked rapidly after their abrupt exit from hyperspace. It was his typical attempt to recover from the usual retinal assault. The flash of light always blinded him, yet he could never convince himself to look away. Perhaps he had a slight masochistic streak. Or perhaps it was like a personal challenge, like a juvenile staring contest - one he never intended to lose.

And Hux was good at stacking his wins.

The bright spots - the burnt images of stars - had begun to fade, but the corners of his mouth still remained tightly pulled into a taut grimace. His gut was still imbalanced after the dinner he'd had catered on the flagship the night before, as they'd hovered in orbit over Korriban. Ordinarily he found Selkathian seaweed salad to be briny and delicate as well as refreshing, but the Ahto scallops had been far too rich and fatty, and had been seared in a spice that, while quite flavorful, had triggered some sort of gastric intolerance within him.

In short... Hux was irritable. So it was business as usual.

As he stood, willing his insides to quit churning, he surveyed the debris field that surrounded the forest moon of Endor. The indigenous population scurrying through the trees down below were little more than savages - banal chattel that, at one point in their history, were hunted for their meat like vermin. Any hope for their technological advancement died the day the Death Star was destroyed - it was nearly impossible to get a ship in or out of that floating mass of jagged, broken shrapnel as it occluded the world's ecliptic plane.

But that floating mass was the reason why they were there. It was all they needed. And it was all right there. All of it. The only task left to perform before they could begin was to answer a few questions, and do a little research.

"Hold here," was the only clipped instruction he gave to his helmsman as he beckoned Lieutenant Allerset to follow. He then turned on his heel and made for the outer corridor, meeting his pair of Praetorian Guardsmen en route. With crisp, dutiful movements they fell in line to flank him, mute outside of their heavy footsteps and the rattle of their multi-layered laminate armor.

When he arrived at the old throne room, he made no stops for conversation - he made no inquiries, he issued no orders, he engaged in no needless niceties. He instead marched a straight and uninterrupted path toward the chamber in the back. It was the first addition (and only, thus far) that had been fully completed, and it stood under ceaseless watchful guard by another dedicated pair of Praetorians twinned with a fearsome squadron of heavy artillery droids.

And within the womb of its secure confines, resting yet awake and alive like a monk at prayer, lie the patiently waiting form of the Infinite Engine.

His pace slowed as he reached the door, but he found he had difficulty bringing his feet to a full stop. Sounds around him disappeared - the drills and clangs of construction, the raised voices of personnel struggling to get their work done over the din, even the blips and bleeps of the droids standing right next to him. All of them slipped like water down a drain, hushed into silence by the whispers of souls across time and space... the dulcet hymn of the Engine. He was not aware of his last two steps... he was not aware of his finger brushing against the button that operated the door...

"General, sir!" the cheery yet professional greeting snapped him out of his reverie. He pulled his hand away and turned to face a tall man with black hair and a square, wind-chapped jawline. "Moff Reardon," the man introduced himself as he clicked his heels together and delivered a neat and well-practiced salute. "I had orders to speak with you immediately."

"Yes, yes," Hux responded, more casually than he'd liked. It was so hot in there, queerly hot for a starship. He retrieved a kerchief from an inside jacket pocket and dabbed at the back of his neck. "Indeed, yes. I-I appreciate your expediency. Your work with the satellite station program has been vital, although I would not have pulled you away if the need were not a priority."

"I understand, General, sir," the man responded as he joined him in crossing the room to reach a line of desktop workstations and tables. Perched on a dais in the corner sat a large, industrial holoprojector, sandwiched on either side by virtual display boards. "In truth, the timing was good. We've crossed the cutover from production support and have now moved into the post-production phase of the project. The things are almost making themselves by now."

"Good, good. This is good to hear because what your next project entails is nothing short of a mammoth undertaking, and time is of the essence. There is no margin for error."

"I would expect nothing less, my lord."

"This is why you were the man for the job." It wasn't like Hux to resort to cheap flattery, but admittedly it did soften the blow for what he was about to ask. He signaled Allerset who pressed a few clicks on her datapad. Within moments, the holoprojector sprung to life, and a flickering, staticky ball bounced into the air above it. It was the forest moon itself, and with it the debris that clogged the space above its equator.

"There are millions of pieces out there," Hux continued as he approached the image, his hands clasped behind his back. He gazed up at it, almost lovingly. The old, circling ruin was, in essence, a monument to their predecessor, the Empire of the past. The Empire of his father. And while it was currently nothing more than a bunch of orbiting space junk, it was still a testament to what it had once been. The hammer and the fist, the might and the strength of the Empire. The embodiment - the very manifestation - of the perfect Imperial Ideal.

Except for one small thing.

"I feel compelled to ask, Moff Reardon, though I likely know the answer," Hux stated, his eyes never leaving the projector as Allerset swung the view around, assessing the wreckage from multiple angles, "have you ever heard of a tale that some of the Mandalorian clans on Rishi tell their children?"

"I, um... I can't say that I have, sir."

This came as no surprise. Reardon was a true child of the Order. He came from a long, Imperial lineage and experienced a typical Imperial childhood. Which meant he didn't hear many children's stories at all, let alone obscure ones told by obscure clans on obscure planets. And really, the only way to know any Mandalorian stories was to... speak with a Mandalorian.

"There's one I've heard that teaches an important lesson, even now. Even to men such as us." He kept his hands behind his back, but took a step closer to the image, bathing his face in its spectral blue light. "It's a story about a rancor and a Kowakian monkey lizard." He could sense the other man's surprise without looking at him.

"You see, the ports on Rishi are all safe haven for pirates," he went on, watching the cartoony little pieces tumble and bump each other as they followed their inexorably continuous path. "They're places full of secrets and grudges and money ready to exchange hands. And every now and then there's a cache of some," he twirled a hand in the air with nonchalance, "... some bauble or trinket that grows its value through its secrecy - it serves its time best in hiding before it hits the open market. Such is the way of pirate economics.

"But these sorts of activities breed distrust amongst the thieves and criminals that have a tendency to... over-inflate their self-importance on a backwater planet like Rishi. And that distrust creates opportunities for enterprising young Mandalorians."

Hux turned then to face his new guest who chose to stare passively, instead, at the floating orb in the corner, rather than show any sign of confusion or boredom on his part. He was well trained. This was a great sign.

"They would be called in to collect a bounty," he continued, folding his hands across his waist, "which would be to steal whatever property was believed to be rightfully owned by... someone else. Or at least was highly coveted, it makes no difference.

"The Mandalorian clans have their own hierarchy of competition, and while many have faced unspeakable terrors in their trials and lived to tell the tale, not many have had the ill fortune to face a hungry and angry rancor, such as the one guarding the proprietary item endemic to this particular fable. But even to die in such a fight, while in the line of service, is to be considered a great honor. And it still is, to this day. A tenet toward which I believe we both can most certainly relate. And so the story went - many made well-paid attempts to steal the cache guarded by this terrifying beast, and many fell before him, their bodies rotting empty-handed inside of their armor.

"But there was one clever lad," Hux smiled and conjured a good-natured chuckle for show as he waggled a finger out before him, "a fine, clever lad. He knew that the climate on Rishi was hot and wet, and he could plainly see a small, metal pipe protruding from the ceiling of the structure the rancor guarded. It was simply used for much needed ventilation, and it was far too small an opening to allow the girth of a man, let alone a chooca nut the size of your fist. But it gave him an idea...

"It's not an uncommon practice amongst scavengers, smugglers, and pirates," he explained as he began to pace, "to make mascots out of trained, pet monkey lizards." Forcing them to watch him as he walked kept their eyes chasing him and not the other way around. As it should be. "They are impish to a fault, but they're also tenacious and fiercely territorial - they will track and murder any pests that dare to stow away on their ship, keeping the facilities free of disease and limiting losses to both cargo and crew.

"Therefore, they are not a difficult thing to find, hiding out in the ramshackle hovels and wine sinks that make up the stinking port towns on Rishi. So that's exactly what this clever lad did. Except, of course, the monkey lizard stole his prize and then made itself equally impossible to find... but that's not the point I'm trying to make.

"The point I'm trying to make, Moff Reardon," Hux stopped and turned, delighted to find the other man's keen and attentive brown eyes immediately on his own, "is that a giant deadly solution can often times be thwarted by a very small and very unnoticed..."

He paused here, steepling his fingers beneath his chin for emphasis.

"Hole."

At this, Hux was silent for a moment as he slowly turned once more toward the image of Endor's forest moon, gently revolving as it wore the Death Star's shattered remains - the pride and achievement of a great, vast Empire - as a queen would don a glittering crown.

"We have these pieces," he said before tipping his head toward the waiting virtual boards. Allerset roused them from their slumber and they flashed to life, proudly placing the Death Star's old blueprints on bright, vivid display. "And we have the plans. What we don't have, Moff Reardon...

"...is a way to plug the hole. And that is what I need you to find."

* * *

"I'm sure your girl's a crack shot," Omar whispered to Finn as he nodded toward Chewbacca, who was busy disengaging the fuel line to the Zephyr, "but we should be taking the Wookiee."

"This isn't about guns and fists," Finn reminded him, fighting to keep a sudden flare of anger from rising in his voice, "this is about getting in and out, and keeping a low profile."

"Boy, didn't you learn anything on Churr-"

"Oh come on, of course I did! Everyone did! That's why we're bringing the guns! AND the doctor. But this is Tython, not some neutral mining colony. And besides, Rose needs to talk to Poe." Finn risked a glance at Ren where he sat at the head of the catamaran, his face hidden beneath the hood of his cloak. He'd begun to slump alarmingly to one side. "In case _he_ doesn't," he finished. "He gonna be okay?"

"Well, I mean, aside from the fact that he's not much more than a reanimated corpse, and I still don't think he's quite decided whether or not he wants to live or die..."

"So we're gonna have a fun trip, is what you're saying."

"Yeah, we're gonna have a great trip."

"Have you seen this thing yet?" Finn heard Rose chirp from behind his right shoulder. He turned to find her chatting with Rey as she finished stowing her tools away. It took him a moment to realize she was referring to the TIE Silencer.

"Only from the cockpit," Rey lamented, tearing her eyes away from Ren just long enough to gaze up at the craft. "Which isn't terribly functional, at the moment."

"Oh girl," Rose went on enthusiastically as she shut the hatch on the locker, "wait'll you see the size of his plasma cannons. He's got four of 'em!"

"Ben Solo. Honestly. Who in their right mind needs four plasma cannons on a TIE fighter?" Rey stated a bit too loudly, on purpose. Her efforts received no visible response from the sullen form of Kylo Ren. "He's lucky he didn't blow his own wings off."

But Finn understood the kind of person who would hoard that much gratuitous fire power. Someone who never felt safe. Someone who felt surrounded by enemies... someone who feared trust. Finn knew this well. He'd surround himself with plasma cannons, too, if he could.

"It's got less to do with luck and more to do with the design," Rose explained. "Whoever drew this thing up was a genius. The way those cannons work together in tandem with their syncopated firing algorithm is like magic. And the power transfer system is just as amazing - the fusion chamber oscillates between the two plasma emitters at speeds you wouldn't believe, and there's a circuit web that runs under the ionized plating that picks up stray electrical charge and feeds it back to the hyperdrive. It's the most efficient machine I've ever seen."

"How did you find the web under the plating? Usually junction boxes for that sort of thing are pretty minimal..."

"I know! Some of it was exposed by damage. It, uh... it hurts when you find it by accident. It runs through a series of slim-line boxes here, here, and here -"

"Ladies!" Omar yelled to catch their attention. "If you don't mind, I'd like to get my patient stabilized on the ground before we have to start planning a funeral! Today maybe?"

"We're coming!" Rey replied, waving a hand in the air as she hoisted her satchel back onto her shoulder.

"There's only one thing I don't get," Rose continued, walking next to her friend. "Why does it have two seats?"

"I thought that was strange, too. You know, I wonder if he - hey, where are you going?!"

Finn dropped his box of ration bars onto the deck of the Zephyr before he whipped around to watch Rose bolt in the opposite direction - back toward the Silencer. Before he could stop her - before the bouncy curls in her hair could stop bobbing up and down - she'd already drawn her blaster and taken aim.

Kylo Ren stood up so fast the hood fell away from his face.

"Wait! What are you doing?!" he cried, but because his reflexes were dull from blood loss and pain, he was too late. Rose fired her weapon... and squarely hit the standard issue First Order tracking device on the belly of the ship with one well-placed shot.

"There, now we don't have to worr..."

Her voice died in her throat when she turned back around to face the towering and menacing form of Kylo Ren glaring at her from where he stood on the Zephyr. The bruises under his eyes only served to make him somehow appear more murderous and unstable. The color drained from her face, and her life flashed before her eyes.

"The... the device..." she stammered, tossing a limp thumb over her shoulder by way of explanation, "... the tracking device..."

Finn found his hand curved over the butt of his blaster as he watched Ren's shoulders finally relax, and the billowing cloud of tension in the air began to dissipate. Ren nodded twice in comprehension, yanked the hood back over his head, and sat back down. And Finn vowed never to underestimate the man again. He'd seen Ren draw power from the pain of his wounds before. First hand, even. There was no reason to believe he couldn't, or wouldn't, do it again no matter what sorry state he was in.

"Okay, so she _is_ a crack shot," Omar whispered into Finn's ear as he took a seat next to him. "I take it back. I like her."

"You should see her ride a fathier," Finn beamed with pride.

"Well, with any luck, we won't get that desperate."

And with all cargo secured and crew on board, Rose took the helm of the wind catamaran, the Twilight Zephyr. They waited patiently, watching the panoramic change of scenery take place outside the luminous barrier that separated the hangar bay from the vacuum of empty space. Once they'd descended to the proper atmospheric elevation over the planet, and features like oceans and mountains became more distinct, they swung the catamaran out into the open air and made way for their destination.

* * *

Rey allowed herself to set aside her nerves, just temporarily, so that she could absorb the sights and smells and excitement that streaked past the Zephyr as it carried them down winding cobbled streets and back-alley passageways. She gripped the brassy railing behind her as she twisted herself all around, squinting as the sunshine created a blinding sort of strobe effect when it peeked out between the crude, mud-brick buildings that made up Kalikori Town. She breathed in the smoky brew of incense and cooking meats and spices for sale in the markets. She marveled over the wide diversity of people in different colors and varying shapes, singing their songs of greeting and commerce to try to better sell their wares. And she smiled to the heavens as a vibrant, multicolored rainbow of banners and canopies shaded them from overhead.

It was like Bespin, except better. Because it was more like her. It was earthy and raw - unrefined and organic and made for subsistence. It was a perfect machine. It was society. It wasn't a place she wanted to visit, it was the kind of place where she wanted to build a life. To dig up earth and plant strong roots. It took every ounce of her sense of duty to keep herself glued to her seat - to keep herself from flinging her body out into that lovely, friendly, sensibly-ordered world to immerse herself in it forever. She never wanted to leave.

Leave it to war to spoil such an incredible place as this.

She could feel him staring at her as she sat across from him, ogling the landscape. Kylo Ren. Ben Solo. Purely out of impulse, she met his eye - just one, swollen, purpled eye, shadowed beneath the hood of his cloak. The way he looked at her unnerved her... the intense leer of the dark side. Her smile faded with discomfort. He didn't look away, not initially. To keep from fidgeting under his scrutiny, she tucked a strand of hair behind her left ear. But then he blinked, and it was the way he blinked... the way the corner of that eye crinkled just slightly... There was a softness to it that told her he might be smiling at her. Or maybe it was her imagination, she couldn't tell. But she wanted to believe that there was a moment that had passed between them, just then. Just a moment, a stolen spark of life and hope - an appreciation that a small oasis of innocence and joy still existed in the world, somewhere.

But mostly in the woman who sat directly opposite him.

But then the moment passed, and that one sad, brown eye fell back to his feet where it belonged before it was once again eclipsed by the hood that shrouded him in solitude.

And then suddenly Finn's torso was in her face. She straightened in her seat as he brushed past her knees to step toward the helm and pass a datapad to Rose.

"Here," he told her, "from Poe. It's coordinates - it's where he wants to meet."

"Wait," Rose muttered as she took a brief second to glance away from where she was going and inspect the characters on the display screen. "Hold on a second." The keel of the vehicle yawed sharply as they veered and tucked neatly away into the lee of a darkened alley. She brought them to a quick halt and turned around in her seat.

"These aren't coordinates," she informed them as she gripped the datapad with wide-eyed concern. "Well, I mean, they are, but that's not all they are." She lifted her face and began to look around the group, addressing them one at a time. "It's code. We used to use it all the time. It's the same kind of code we used to send out to our... our, um..." she stopped when her eyes landed on Ben. "It's uhh... yeah. It's code. Real short, three characters appended on the end of each coordinate. Here, hold on, I, uhh... I think I can remember the cipher. Although it's been a while."

To Rey, it felt as if they were all holding their breath. They watched Rose stare into space for a short time as she tapped her lips and sometimes wiggled a finger in the air, deep in thought. But then, her pink tongue darting between her lips, she bent quickly back to her datapad and made a small series of clicks. She then held it up for all to see. The glowing, backlit display only held two small words.

NO SUN.

"See?" she said. "Three characters - the first two, then a space, and then the last three. But what does it mean?"

"Do you think it has anything to do with Tython's moons?" Rey asked. "I've, umm..." she was hesitant to mention her stolen Jedi texts for the same reason Rose was hesitant to talk about Resistance Intelligence code. Ben Solo was still an unknown entity... even if he was less unknown to her than anyone else. "I've been doing some reading lately, and there's a lot of old Jedi stories and superstitions about those moons."

"Yeah, but would Poe know any of them?"

"I don't know..." Rey had to admit. It depended on his relationship with Leia, or even how much their late General knew about a bunch of old Jedi stories, having not been trained in the way of the Jedi the way her brother had. They probably weren't something that most children heard much when they were young. Rey certainly hadn't... but there were a lot of things she hadn't experienced when she was young.

"Are you sure you got the code right?" Omar asked, characteristically the skeptic.

"I am," Rose replied. "It took me a minute to remember the 'U,' but I'm certain of the rest."

"Maybe we should be paying closer attention to the signs on some of these shops," Finn guessed, craning around in his seat to try to get a better look at some of the ones they'd already passed.

"Yeah, but these coordinates tell us exactly where we need to go," Rose answered him, "with pinpoint precision, even. Unless he's telling us to look for something else..."

"I haven't really seen anything so far that fits... maybe it's like a clan symbol? Or on a flag?"

"Maybe he just wanted us to come at night," Omar said.

"I feel like he probably would've mentioned that."

"What if..." Rey began, scrunching her eyebrows as she crossed her arms and chewed on her thumbnail. "What if it's a code within a code?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, what if... what if it's something he knows only a Resistance member would know? Like, something you would say to each other? What if it's a small piece of something bigger that he thinks we'll recognize?"

"No, she's right," Omar agreed. "Think about it. He's obviously trying to tell you something, but for some reason he can't just come right out and say it. He can, however, send you coordinates. Coordinates are only so long before they become obviously _not_ coordinates, so he's trying to catch your attention with only a tiny amount of data."

"Kind of like when you're trying to guess a song, but all you really need is just the first few lines," Finn said.

"Exactly."

"No sun," Rey mused out loud, over and over. "No sun, no sun. No. Sun." She flung her hands up in the air, thoroughly stumped. "Ugh, what could that possibly mean? To anyone!? Is it something Leia knew?"

"It is."

The raw rumble of Ben Solo's voice stunned them all into silence. Rey felt herself stiffen, and once more she found that single somber eye peering at her from within the secrecy of its hiding place.

"'Hope is like the sun." The words cut through the air like a razor blade. "If you only believe in it when you can see it, you'll never make it through the night.'"

Listening to him quote his mother sent a weird chill up her spine... one that wasn't necessarily cold. It left behind an odd, mournful pang in her belly. For several long, uncomfortable minutes, no one said anything - they just stared at each other... or the ground. Ben's face slipped back beneath his hood. It wasn't just that what he'd said was awkward... it was that the obvious pain in his voice had made echoes... had made ripples that disturbed the gentle breezes that rustled the cheery canopies over their heads. Rey briefly wondered if the others expected to hear such a sincere pain serenade them from within the soul of their captive enemy.

"Rey," Rose finally whispered, her airy breath like a tiny needle that popped the balloon of silence. "Do you have that one datapad with you? The one Lando gave you?"

"Yeah, sure," Rey answered as she dug it out and handed it to the girl. "How come?"

"I just want to see something - I'm curious. What was the name of the man Poe came to see? Nikt? Nilsen?"

"Nylk," Finn told her. "Harlan Nylk. Hoersh-Kessel Shipyards and Manufacturing. His partner, Parduk, was with Killian Arms."

"Right," Rose responded. "See, that's the thing. I know the Republic has done business with Hoersh-Kessel in the past - the Resistance ended up with some of those ships when the New Republic de-militarized. Hell, that smuggler ship we ended up on, Finn? Getting off of Canto Bight?"

"Yeah?"

"For all I know, the ship designs we found in its data banks were from Hoersh-Kessel. Or any number of others. I mean, it was a rude awakening, but think of what we learned that day - a dealer will really only sell his loyalty to the party that bests serves his bottom line, and in most cases he'll happily split his interests both ways.

"But that datapad Lando gave you lists names of contacts that General Leia trusted, without question. They were people she knew owed the Resistance either honor, duty, or some kind of favor for some reason."

"But why wouldn't they answer our hails?" Rey interjected.

"Same reasons I told you before, kid," Omar answered her. "Could even be hundreds of reasons. Maybe it's not safe to talk over holonet channels. Could be they've gone to ground. Could be they're occupied. Could be they're dead. Or maybe they've just sold out. Mostly likely? They're just like your buddy, Calrissian. They're just trying to be real careful, playing a real deadly game. And they'd prefer to be approached from a position of neutrality."

"Like Nylk..."

"Like Nylk."

"And that's what made me wonder if I'd find Harlan Nylk on this list. It makes sense that most dealers would prefer to remain neutral, but if they secretly side with the Resistance, like Lando, then they should be on it, right? Which..." Rose sighed as she switched off the display screen and clapped it down on top of the other pad laying in her lap. "He isn't. I'm sure it doesn't mean anything... but..."

"It does."

Once again, the harsh timbre of Ben Solo's voice brought a sharp halt to the conversation. This time he raised both hands and gently slid the hood away from his face, allowing thick, dark strands of black hair to flounce and drape over his brows and cheekbones. Rey shrunk in her seat when joyous, golden rays of sunlight glinted off of the stun cuffs that bound his wrists. She then watched Ben hold Rose's gaze with a fixed, pointed stare.

"Those names are of people my mother trusted." He paused to clear his throat, wet his lips, and flick his hair out of his eyes. "Harlan Nylk is not on that list. Trust no one. And listen to your instincts."

Rose could only stare back at him. She didn't dare look away. The fear blooming in her gut kept her paralyzed.

"Hope is like the sun..." Rey mused out loud, once again chewing that same thumbnail. "No sun... no sun. No su- wait. No hope. No hope!"

"No hope," she heard Finn repeat, his voice sinking like a ship in a swamp.

"So it's a warning, then," Omar surmised. "It's a trap."

"It is a trap," Rose agreed. "That's what he's trying to tell us. And we're gonna just... walk right into it."

"Do we have a choice?" Finn asked. "This is Poe... he needs our help."

"And that's exactly what we're gonna do," Rose said with conviction as she brought the Zephyr around, easing the craft back out into the thoroughfare. "He'd do the same for any one of us."

"We should be prepared for anything, though," Rey concluded, clutching the strap on her staff a little tighter. "We have no idea what's waiting for us."

She could feel his eyes on her again, but this time it was easier to look up and face him. There was something about dropping that hood that made him seem more approachable. More human. The look that swam in the pools of those mahogany eyes wasn't one of mockery or malice, or even his more typical concoction of guilt and sorrow. This time, it was ardent apprehension. It wasn't just a Resistance ground team that was driving headlong into a known trap... they were dragging him along with them. And not only was he unarmed... he was also in restraints.

A prisoner. At the mercy of his captors.

And he was quite likely in the running for the number one spot on the Galaxy's Most Wanted list.

Rey frowned at him in scorn as he continued to glare at her. What did he expect her to do? She couldn't just let him go. Because she knew he'd run. And she knew...

She knew she'd never see him again. Or if she did, it would come at the expense of his dead body.

It wasn't safe for him out there. It wasn't safe for him anywhere. But if he was with her... why couldn't he understand she was trying to help him!? Why didn't he get that? Why was that so hard!? Before her mental tirade took her any further, he gave her satchel a short, serious nod. And then his intent hit her with a brick of clarity.

They should be prepared for anything. They had no idea what was waiting for them.

She swallowed hard against the knot of anxiety that had climbed into her throat as she reached one hand deep into the hollows of her satchel. A sensation like a jab of electricity raced up her fingers when she touched its cold, ragged, metal length. That same dull pain she'd felt before settled deep into the bones of her knuckles, into the meat of the muscles in her arm... but she cradled it with her palm anyway. She retrieved it, and for a moment she held it up between them.

Kylo Ren's lightsaber.

The look that passed between them was stern, but it was no longer one of enmity or confrontation. It was the same one they'd shared in the throne room on the Supremacy as the gristle of Snoke's severed torso spilled all over the shining, black-tiled floor. It was a look that recognized an equal.

It was a look that acknowledged a partnership.

Rey clipped the saber to her belt, and would have suppressed the small, wry grin that lifted one corner of her mouth if she hadn't found it mirrored in return on his own. With a quick jerk of both hands, Ben flipped his hood back over his head and Rey felt her insides flutter with a strange, inexplicable thrill. It wasn't the fight she was looking forward to...

It was the dance.

* * *

"Huh... this is it, is it?" Omar muttered under his breath, taking a moment to let his eyes adjust after crossing the darkened threshold into the lively, albeit pastoral, tavern.

"It's what Poe gave us," Rose shrugged, keeping her face passive as she discreetly answered him and brushed a few motes of dust off of her jacket.

"Huh. Usually when Maz wants to meet up, she chooses locales that are a lot less... wholesome than this. Which, frankly, boggles my mind, given what I do. And with _whom_."

"So how do you know Maz, anyway?" Rey asked as she pushed Ben Solo through the door in front of her, careful to maintain contact by keeping a hand on his left shoulder.

"That's not a story for today, kiddo," Omar whispered, "not on this planet. Suffice it to say, though," he tossed her a quick wink, "there aren't many folks who don't know Maz." As he crossed the worn and muddy wooden floor, he made a great show of pulling his long coattails away from his sides to slide his hands innocuously into his pants pockets... while theatrically exposing the butts of both blaster pistols.

Ben Solo kept his cuffed hands tucked neatly into the folds of his cloak and his head bowed low, allowing his hood to securely hang in place and leave the recognizable bulk of his face wisely hidden. Rey thought better about voicing just how strongly he mimicked the stylized images of ancient Jedi she'd seen in old books and out-of-date holovids. But she could sense his unease - she could feel his eyes roving over every surface, inspecting every hand or belt or holster on every living body in the room.

She, on the other hand, couldn't help but delight in the place. The low, candlelit chandeliers that clung to the dark, hardwood rafters were a cozy touch that served to offset the roughly-daubed, bare plaster walls. A chatty, matronly barkeep was slinging pints of some sort of ale while two men sampling her fare at the bar clapped each other on the shoulder and slapped their knees as they laughed at something funny. There was a trio of musicians plying their trade in the corner - they themselves, and their instruments, were like nothing Rey had ever seen. They looked more like large bugs to her, but the music they played was rousing and upbeat, and the small canister they'd placed before them for busking was full of credit chits.

Ben winced beneath her fingers as she grasped at him a bit too tightly - she'd nearly lost her footing when a pair of furry creatures noisily bumped past her legs as they ran out the door. They were either pets or livestock, she couldn't tell. Either way, they were just one more element that added to the homey, rural atmosphere inviting her to walk further inside. She circled round a large table near the back with the rest of her crew, got Ben situated, and claimed a seat next to him for herself.

"So, what do we do now?" she asked as she laced her fingers together on the table, still looking around and taking in their surroundings. "Did Poe give instructions on how to make contact?"

"I wouldn't mind ordering a round of drinks," Finn said as he wriggled in his seat to get settled. "Be nice to wash the road out of our mouths." His face split into one of his signature, thousand-watt smiles as he attempted to lift a hand to signal the barmaid. Omar stopped him by snagging his coat sleeve, catching his elbow before his fingertips could breach the open air.

"Are you crazy, boy? We can't let anyone -"

"No, he's right," Rey whispered harshly in defense of her friend. This time, Omar was wrong. "We're more conspicuous if we don't order drinks. Otherwise, it's obvious we're all just sitting here waiting for something to happen."

She twisted around in her seat before he could protest, and she raised her left hand. At the same time she felt Ben lean himself up against her right shoulder.

"Rey."

His breath against her ear came too late - her hand was already aloft, waving like a five-fingered kite. The barmaid had already excused herself from her patrons at the bar... had already grabbed a towel and closed half the distance between them. And that's when Rey saw it...

On the floor. Behind the bar. Peeking out from around the corner like a sly, mischievous child having fun with a game hide-and-go-seek. It was a tiny, fleshy object.

It was the tip of a finger.

And snaking sneakily away from it, almost completely unnoticeable in the low lamplight, was a thin, dark red trickle of blood.

"Afternoon, folks," the woman greeted them with a raspy voice and a gap-toothed grin. She slung her towel over her shoulder and bodily blocked Rey's view of the not-quite-concealed, telltale object. "What can I grab ya?"

She was a stocky, compact, and well-formed woman, although it was difficult to pinpoint her age. The lines that creased her face could just as easily have come from exposure to sun and wind, although the hair she kept cropped in an odd, eccentric sort of spiked mohawk appeared to have gone silver quite some time ago. She placed one hand on the table and the other on her hip, and up close Rey could clearly see the sinewy definition of the woman's musculature - no doubt from years of marching arm loads of heavy glasses up and down the premises. But there were other oddities she began to notice.

The first was the lower edge of a tattoo on the woman's forearm, just visible beneath the hem of her sleeve. It was some sort of symbol, something Rey thought she recognized from an online cultural compendium she'd poured over in her youth on Jakku. Next were the callouses on the palms of her hands. It was true that callouses like those could easily have been gained through a childhood of manual labor, or through an adult career working a bar... but Rey couldn't shake how closely they resembled the kinds of markings one earned spending a lot of time maintaining weapons that vented sizable amounts of heat.

And then... there were the scars.

Rey couldn't think of how to answer her. Couldn't speak, even - her mouth had gone dry. Thankfully, Finn stepped in to fill her sudden silence.

"Warm one out there today!" he stated amiably, though Rey felt it was a tad chilly at their current altitude, given Kalikori Town was situated on an alpine ridge overlooking a great canyon. She could tell he knew something was up - he eagerly rubbed his hands together, but his smile had left his face. If he feared he wasn't very convincing... then he probably wasn't. "Been a long drive, hoping to get whatever you've got on tap."

"Long drive, huh?" the barmaid repeated with a jab of her chin. "Where y'headed?"

Finn blinked and worked his jaw the way he usually did when he was stymied. But this time Rey was ready. She'd learned her lesson on Bespin. It was time to play the scavenger card.

"Hitting the markets," she blurted, almost a bit too quickly. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Omar carelessly picking at an anomaly in the wood grain of their table with one hand... while the other had disappeared underneath. Rey nodded slowly and persuasively as she met the woman's eye. "We've got a cargo hold full of old ship parts."

"Space junk, huh?" the woman snorted with derision.

"They're still good!" Rey sulked in mock offense as she continued with the ruse, harkening back on all of the times she had to champion her own goods to Unkar Plutt in order to earn a meal. "Raw materials are getting harder to come by every day - it's a simple fact! Plus, everyone knows they don't make core injectors like they used to anymore, and who doesn't blow a power converter from time to time?"

"Yeah," the woman seemed to agree as she barked a dry, croupy laugh. Her levity died, however, and her mouth pulled into a thin, straight line turning her unyielding stare into something much more... intense. "Who doesn't." She swiveled at the waist and called out to the two men still seated at the bar. "Ain't she right boys? You hear that?"

"Yeah, we hear her, Sonora," the first one answered, calmly setting his glass back down on the bar.

"Heard her loud and clear," the other was quick to add his affirmation.

"Yeah," the woman named Sonora drawled as she turned slowly back around. She pulled the hand on her hip away to draw a loose, lazy circle in the air - one that clearly indicated the whole of Rey's person. "You, uh... you must've traveled far. You're not from around these parts." It wasn't a question - it was an observation.

"W-well, that's - that's not very..." Rey stuttered, but then it hit her. It was the same thing that had caught Omar's attention the first time they'd met.

Rey had a strange accent.

But what did that matter? She was aware it marked her as a possible First Order defector... a troublesome similarity she shared with her prisoner... But if that was the case, then who were these people? And what did they want?

"You, uh... you some sort of scavenger?" the woman asked. She didn't sound curious. She sounded like someone seeking confirmation. It didn't frighten Rey - it made her angry. She pinched her lips together to keep the annoyance from pinking her cheeks. She didn't have the patience for vapid games like this. She absolutely _was_ a scavenger, and in her long line of business people who played games with her got their skulls closely acquainted with the blunt end of her staff. Without delay. She was ready to get on with it.

And that's when she noticed it had become eerily quiet. A quick glance to the corner told her the quirky little band had vanished into thin air, with enough haste to leave behind their full canister of hard-earned credit chits.

Ben Solo remained as still as a statue where he sat, his hands clasped calmly in his lap. But as Rey brushed her arm against his to rest a palm on the lightsaber hanging from her belt, she could feel his tension, coiled as tightly as a wound spring. They both had come to the same conclusion, could even spell the words as each letter tumbled down the string of the bond that bound them. And given who they were, considering their current set of circumstances, it made perfect sense.

Bounty hunters.

Of course they were. There was no safe space in the whole of the known galaxy for a notorious, fallen Supreme Leader.

"I know what you want," Rey hissed, her voice aflame as she cut through all of this ridiculous pretense to strike at the heart of the matter. "And you can't have him."

"Oh honey," Sonora purred self-assuredly as she straightened and stepped away from the table, pressing the slimy, pink tip of her tongue between the gap in her teeth as she smiled. "Trust me - that tall and tasty snack you're cartin' around with you is just the bonus check.

"We've come here for _you_."

Rey could only cock her head in dumbfounded bewilderment. In her periphery, she saw the edge of Ben's hood jerk as he turned toward her. Sonora began to cackle as she drew one languid hand across the curve of her hip toward the small of her back.

"Lady," Omar growled, stiff as a board with a hand still under the table, "I wouldn't do that if I were you."

After that, everything moved very fast.

Sonora ignored Omar's warning and whipped her pistol around, opening the first volley of shots. Rey leaped back and onto her feet, kicking her chair away behind her and managing to escape the line of fire by mere inches. Omar dove for the ground, loosing his own round of gunfire on the way down. In the sudden chaos, Rey heard Rose yelp, but only because Finn had yanked her out of her seat by the collar of her jacket to stuff her safely under the cover of the table.

"Oh no," the girl groaned as her head disappeared... and Rey understood why. The shots Omar fired careened away into nothingness as they were easily deflected by a shimmering, translucent shield surrounding Sonora's body. The silver-haired bounty hunter just laughed. And that's when it hit her... the tattoo on the woman's arm. Rey did know it. She'd seen its mark on several pieces of equipment scattered all across the dunes of Jakku's infamous graveyard.

"Deshra," Rey muttered flatly as Kylo Ren's lightsaber burst into fiery red life at her side. "You're a Mandalorian. Clan Deshra. That's a retribution feedback shield."

"Clever girl," Sonora Deshra grinned as flashing ripples of light revealed the camouflaged shapes of four men hiding in the shadows of the rafters near the ceiling. "What can I say, I prefer to keep the odds in my favor. Girl's gotta earn a living." With her left hand the woman raised another weapon, but not one that looked like a blaster. She lined up her aim on Rey, but didn't make it any further.

In an explosion of movement, Ben Solo's chair went flying and his feet were on top of the table, his cloak sent sailing away to pool all over the ground. He grunted as both cuffed hands grabbed hold of the chandelier above his head and he swung one leg around to kick the woman hard in the face. She doubled over as another one of her teeth went skittering across the grimy wooden floor. It gave Rey a spare moment to blink, and she used it to gather her wits. She would not allow herself to be dazed. It was time for her to act. With only one lightsaber, this fight was a gun fight. They needed cover and they needed space.

And they needed to bring down those shields.

The four men in the rafters rescinded their camouflage and dropped to the floor, armed and ready.

The two men seated at the bar flung themselves over its length to grasp at the weaponry they'd stashed behind it.

Ben Solo let go of the chandelier and landed square and heavy right beside her. His lips snarled away from his teeth, and his hair fell dark over his eyes.

"They said you were punchy," Sonora sneered, gravelly and vulgar as she turned back around, bloody spittle dribbling down her chin. "I like punchy."

There was something sickening about the way the woman looked him up and down, as if he was nothing more than a haunch of meat for sale at the local market. She smeared a red, gooey sheen across her teeth with her tongue... her eyes lingered far too long below his belt for Rey's comfort. It turned her stomach. Suddenly possessive, she pressed her shoulder into his for the measure of one held breath. Her pulse rang hollow in her ears, shutting out all other sound except for the rhythmic staccato of her own heartbeat... and his. A bright and vibrant spark surged through the silver thread between them like a wick, igniting their bond with determined focus and furious, brilliant synchronicity. The dance had begun.

His back was firm against hers as they both crouched low. One word, feather soft like a secret sigh, drifted across the soundless void that bridged the twin suns of their minds.

"Catch."

With that, Rey tossed the hilt of the lightsaber into the air and dropped to her knees.

Omar scrabbled on his butt across the floor in his attempt to pull down another table. The two men at the bar opened fire on him - he engaged purely as an act of self-preservation. His shots were ill-placed and clumsier than usual for a man of his precision and skill.

The four men on the far side of the room fanned out and began to press their advance, cavalier in their dependence on the integrity of their shields. They began to rain down a curtain of blaster fire in a wide arc, but for all of their enthusiasm they never made contact.

Because Kylo Ren had his lightsaber.

It hissed with satisfying, jubilant wrath as it seared the open air, drawing flaming circles hot enough to blind and disorient. It twirled and spun and sent every shot away to pit the walls, the ceiling, the bar... even the bounty hunters' own shields.

Sonora Deshra lined her sights up point blank between Ben's eyes, but before her finger could so much as caress the smooth, familiar curve of her trigger, she screeched a cry of fear and shock. Her dead weight had been yanked off of her feet and launched across the bar where she'd smashed into a glass cabinet behind it with a loud and gruesome crash. Her body riddled with the crimson points of myriad glass shards, she collapsed to the ground in a broken heap. Rey's left hand was still outstretched from where she knelt, her right hand clinging to the inside of Ben Solo's left knee.

She pulled her right hand away to fling it behind her. The table sheltering Finn and Rose tipped at an odd angle before it slammed down on one side and scuttled its way legs-first across the floor where it finally smacked against the far wall. The pair briskly scooted along with it, thankful to be provided a better barrier to stand their ground. Rey could only see the whites of Finn's eyes and the barrel of his blaster over its top edge. He opened fire on the nearest of the four men across the room with everything he had, unleashing a wild torrent of shots one after the other until the power cartridges on his weapon began to bleat insistently.

"Maybe if we try to overwhelm them..." he guessed through grit teeth as each ineffectual shot bounced away. The only thing he'd managed to accomplish was to draw unwelcome attention to himself and Rose.

Behind and to her right, Rey heard Omar yelp and she turned just in time to see him drag a bloody ankle into the shadow of another upturned table. The two men at the bar clearly considered him to be low-hanging fruit - they weren't going to give up until they'd finished him off. Within two stomped paces they were practically on top of him. Ben could sense Rey's urgency.

"Here," he breathed to her as he bent low. Blaster fire raced past her nose - close enough to singe the tips of her eyelashes - when he extinguished the blade of his saber. Caught off balance, he nudged her with his hip until she tipped backwards and rolled over him in a tight half-cartwheel. At some point on her way over, her wrist had scraped past the cuff on his and she suddenly found the saber had been placed in her hand. When she landed on her feet again she immediately tucked into a long somersault and rolled toward the men who'd left the bar.

If gunfire wouldn't work, she was willing to bet a lightsaber would.

The closer of the two had anticipated her attack, but miscalculated her position. With gun still in hand firing a merciless tirade at her fallen comrade, the man swung a buzzing vibroblade around behind him. It was certainly a well-practiced extension of his own arm, and it would have opened her throat had she not approached from below. The mistake proved fatal - he scorched a black, smoking stripe up the wall before he dropped both weapons entirely, looking down to gawk at the glowing tip of the blade exiting his chest before sliding off of it and falling to the floor.

Leaving Omar's table not much more than jagged splinters and ash, the other man spun around to fight for his life. He sidestepped to close the narrow distance between them and jabbed the butt of his gun out at the bridge of Rey's nose. He was fast, but she was faster, pivoting on one foot to spin out of the way. The saber completed her pirouette and neatly severed the back of the man's spine. He twisted unnaturally on his way down, revealing a glimpse of his smoking insides.

She took a moment to catch her breath, but was startled by the sudden cacophony of dry, wooden cracks and dull, heavy crashes. She looked up to see Ben Solo employing the greatest of all of his gifts, straining against his cuffs as he expertly wielded the Force to throw anything he could find whether it was in reach or not. The Mandalorians were famous for their prowess in close combat, but not many were prepared to face hefty wooden tables and scores of bulky chairs as they were flung haphazardly through the air at high rates of speed.

Rey bounced lightly on the balls of her feet and made one made one lively stride to cross the room and assist him, but then slid to a halt and bent at the middle, smothering her ears with her hands as a shrill, high-pitched whistle easily pierced the pervading pandemonium.

"What in the -"

The question fell unfinished from her lips. There was no time for an answer. The previously floating cloud of furniture hit the floor. One of the bounty hunters was quick enough to take advantage of the painful distraction - he rushed toward Ben, blaster barrel first.

"The deal on you is dead or no deal, buddy," he spoke up above the ringing sound, "nothing personal."

He fired the blaster, but even at close range his aim was no match for the reflexes of a man trained in the ways of a Jedi. He watched his target merely duck calmly away from the shot before throwing both cuffed wrists up against the weapon's long muzzle. The man stumbled backwards in his attempt not to be smacked in the face by his own heavy firearm. A second man snuck up on Ben from behind, but not unnoticed - he huffed a harsh wheeze when a tall, black boot rammed into his middle, knocking the air from him.

Ben made good use of his momentum and rushed the first of his attackers, tackling him with a shoulder to the gut. They both went down and wrestled on the floor, legs kicking and arms flailing as the bounty hunter did his best to reach for the blaster he'd dropped. What he got instead was the short chain between Ben Solo's durasteel stun cuffs wrapped around his neck in a tight stranglehold. The man's outstretched fingers began to tremble as his lips turned purple, but he was determined not to give up.

The second man was eager to come to his friend's rescue - he did his best to line up his crosshairs on the center of Ben's forehead, but found him to be thrashing too wildly to make a clean, easy shot. Deciding it was a better job for a vibroblade, he pulled it from his belt...

Only to watch it zip across the room and land in Rey's open hand.

Before it was flung again toward its owner.

It struck him in the meat of his right breast so hard he fell onto his back and writhed in pain. It wasn't a fatal blow, but it was enough to give Rey the reprieve she needed to watch the remaining two bounty hunters creep nervously toward the upturned table by the wall. They squeezed their eyelids in irritation - the deafening tone was still resounding, and its source seemed to be coming from Finn and Rose.

A sharp cry of agony caught her attention - she turned to watch the man being choked on the floor repeatedly elbow Ben in his ribs, over and over as hard as he could to try in vain to earn his release. But Ben was never going to relent. It just wasn't who Ben Solo was. Ben Solo drew power from pain. And strength. His grip only intensified as his teeth clacked together and sweat dripped from his hair into his eyes.

And then flames erupted out of the corner of Rey's eye, near the table by the wall - one of the bounty hunters had decided to flush out Finn and Rose with a flamethrower. She charged toward them as his partner turned and fired on her. What he didn't know was that she shared a supernatural and indescribable mental link with a man who was masterfully skilled in parrying blaster fire with a lightsaber.

She reached deep down, dove deep into the depths of their joined sea, sinking head first into that place where their hands once touched. She marched toward those men with with confidence and courage, spinning and turning the blade and furiously batting each bolt from the air like she was swatting at a swarm of flies. The man with the flamethrower remained focused on his task, but his partner could only drop his jaw in awe as he watched none of his wasted blaster fire make its mark. With renewed determination, he flared his nostrils and pursed his lips, and he met her eye down the length of his barrel. The look he gave her was a pure blend of fear and purpose as he fired what he believed to be one last true and flawless shot.

One that stopped as if the world stood still. One that hovered in midair, blazing as brightly as a tiny comet, so close to Rey's fingertips she could almost reach out and touch it.

"What? Did you think this was going to be easy?" she asked the man as the streak flashed between them. He only stared at her, astonished.

She punched a fist out in front of her, and a gale of Force upended the man as if he was made of nothing more than paper. With a roar, she dipped right to let the blaster bolt fly away, past her face into parts unknown. She then brought the saber around to sever the flamethrower from its owner... along with his arm. Stunned, it took a moment before the man began to scream.

"Don't get cocky, girl," Rey heard a voice from behind her say. She turned to face the man she'd stabbed with the vibroblade. He'd pulled it from the wound separating his chest from his shoulder, and placed it in the hands of the man still fighting Ben Solo, changing the dynamic of their struggle. For a brief moment she watched them grapple over the weapon before she was struck with a blow so hard and so violent it wracked her whole body with convulsions, crumpling her to the floor. Her teeth ground together and every muscle in her body contorted with raw electricty, and she was blinded burning white for what felt like an eternity.

When her vision finally cleared, she found herself immobile and helpless with the stabbed bounty hunter looming over her, pointing the same kind of weapon at her that Sonora Deshra had tried to use.

A net launcher. It was an electronet. It confused every synapse in her body... it pinned her to the ground and rendered her completely useless. She was certain she still felt the saber in her hand, but it was too late. The Mandalorian showed her a cruel smile of satisfaction as he lifted his blaster to her face.

"No..." Rey heard a raspy voice call from near the bar. She strained her eyes to look and see - Sonora had crawled out on her elbows, dragging a long trail of blood behind her. "They want her alive, stupid! You know the score - don't make it all for nothing! You wanna shoot something? It's him that's dead or no deal!"

Rey followed the woman's pointing finger to watch Ben Solo twist his body in one quick movement, raking the weight of his cuffs down the lengths of his assailant's forearms and knocking the vibroblade from his hands. He then chopped them up to bash the man in the jaw before hammering them down to pummel the back of his skull. For one infinitesimal moment, he made eye contact with Rey. His eyes were black with rage. She beckoned to him without words and uncurled her fingers from the saber hilt.

His opponent used the pause to pick up his blade and lash out with a fierce, deadly strike, but found it woefully inadequate... rebuked as it was in sparking defiance by the terrifying length of Kylo Ren's formidable saber. One flick sent the vibroblade flying. The next ended the bounty hunter's life.

The man with the net launcher froze where he stood, unsure of what to do. And understandably so. The vision he now faced pacing before him was nothing short of monstrous. Ben Solo stalked forward, his lightsaber held high and ready as he glared bloody vengeance at his prey through the bend in his arm beneath his chin. Unblinking, he circled on agile feet, vicious, starving, and cunning. Clearly the man didn't think he could raise his blaster fast enough to beat the odds.

"What? Are you scared?" Ben antagonized the man, still breathy with the exhilaration of victory through death. "You should be."

Rey chuckled in spite of her predicament. _Look at him, sweet stars_ , she thought to herself. _He's beautiful_. And through her twinned sense of kinship with Ben Solo, she knew there wasn't a force in the known universe that could take the two of them together. That feeling of connection, the feeling of being unstoppable - of perfectly matched, parallel strength... it was intoxicating. It shined a light within her, chasing away the shadows from all of her lonely places. And she felt it from him too - a lusty hum of pleasure that coursed through the silky fibers of their flesh.

The moment was shattered, however, when a jet of flame once more speared the air from somewhere near the table by the wall. In a last ditch attempt to hold their position, Finn had retrieved the abandoned flamethrower... after having jiggled free the severed hand that still clung to it. He gracelessly swung the thing back and forth in front of him creating an impenetrable and immolating wall of fire.

"I could really use that drink right about now!" he yelled, rubbing the sweat out of his eyes with his sleeve. "And the next time I tell someone this isn't about guns and fists, I want one of y'all to punch me in the face!"

"I got it!" Rose cried from somewhere down beside him, and suddenly the room was filled with a high, quavering, but invigorating harmony. There were now two notes paired together, singing their triumphant refrain to the heavens as clear as a chorus of bells... as close as two hands that begged for touch. And then, from over near the bar, Rey could hear Sonora Deshra let loose a string of obscene curses.

One last shimmer of light emblazoned the perimeter of each bounty hunter's body... before their shields disintegrated entirely.

"The tones break the feedback loop," Rose smiled as she popped her head over the table, blaster firmly in hand. "Just had to find the right frequency!"

And with that, the playing field was even.

Ben Solo eviscerated the bounty hunter with the net launcher before he could make another move. Rose shot the man nearest their barricade squarely in the chest at close range. He fell and didn't get back up. The man with the severed arm ducked out of the flamethrower's line of fire before reaching behind his back for the hilt of his vibroblade, but was summarily dispatched from out of sight... by Omar lying on his back, still concealed behind the charred ruin of his table.

And before the dust could settle - before the last percussive echoes of gunfire could die in the distance... the fight was over. Or at least it felt that way for a minute or two.

Slowly, as they perched their hands on their knees and caught their breath... as they wiped the sweat from their faces and kneaded their sore muscles... the atmosphere shifted. Something seemed to drain from it. The breathless, celebratory joy of survival had begun to fade away, leaving behind a chillier yet more familiar sense of dread.

Even as Rey found her feet, having disentangled herself from the electronet with the aid of Finn and Rose, she turned to look at Ben Solo and felt the combined energy that had previously cemented their bond... grow thin. She felt it tremor with disquiet as she searched his eyes and found them once more clouded with something untamed and unpredictable. She felt him testing her strength, gentle tugs to see if he could pull away. She found herself fighting him, struggling to hold on and not let go.

And they all stood there staring at him, frozen... as he stared back at them.

Their prisoner.

Who was now armed and dangerous with his very own, very fully lit lightsaber.

And if he chose to fight for his freedom here... Rey would have no choice. Unconsciously, she shook her head at him.

 _No. Please._

"Haha! What're gonna do about your boy?!" Sonora Deshra laughed a wet, clotted laugh from where she lay behind the bar. "Shoulda kept that sword for yourself, clever girl!"

Everything ceased to exist outside of his eyes, and the way the shoulders beneath them seemed to lift with every exerted breath. Ghosts of the past whispered tender reminders to her of wishes they'd made that hadn't come true. The way he'd pleaded with her to stay with him, on the Supremacy... the way she'd begged him to go with her, over Churruma. How could she ever tell him? How could she ever make him see? It wasn't that she was afraid to fight him. It wasn't even that she was afraid for his safety, although there was probably some logic behind that, evidenced by the apparent bounty on his head that was only payable upon his death. It wasn't really any of that. Not really.

She just wanted him to stay.

But why? Why did she yearn for him so much? Was it simply because of their bond? Did it have something to do with the hopes his mother never lived to see fulfilled? Or was it this... thing, this... other thing... that she kept sealed and unnamed in the back of her mind? And how could he ever know?

"Ben," she heard Omar call softly from behind her. He'd hobbled his way across the room to place a heavy hand on her shoulder to steady himself. It was the only time she'd ever heard anyone else refer to Ben by his real name... other than his parents. "You're still healing buddy. Please - I know the stun cuffs are probably a little, uh... a little extreme... but I can see from here that you've ruptured some your sutures. You're bleeding, man."

It was true. The front of his once fresh, clean grey tunic was now mottled with dark splotches that definitely weren't entirely of his own making... but some were. And near the toes of his boots, a collage of bright red spots had splattered artfully on the floor where he stood.

"You can take yourself on the run if you want," Omar went on. "Only she can try to stop you, and there's a not-completely-unreasonable chance that she wouldn't be able to do it. Although between you and me, given the state you're in, my money's on her.

"But you get out there on your own, bud... and you're all alone." Rey felt like Omar might have finally reached him there. Or maybe she was just projecting, it was hard to tell. But those were words that cut to the bone. He did manage to get him to lower the tip of the saber a few inches. "If the infection doesn't get you within a fortnight, then..." he made a wide gesture, "then these guys will."

Rey could feel Ben's turmoil crawling underneath her own skin, even if his expression was carefully guarded behind the mask he'd crafted for himself over a lifetime of other turmoils. His conflict of interest - his splitting indecision - hung on the end of a string that swung between them so fast it made her dizzy. She even began to feel clammy and nauseous, so much that she had to blink and rub her eyes to clear the fog and stop the room from spinning. But then she looked up and watched his pallor turn from pale to a sallow, ashen grey. His breaths started to come in short spurts and he began to sway on his feet.

"There are worse things than being a prisoner," Omar told him, his arms held wide as he left her side and made a slow, easy, tentative approach. "At least let me get you healed up. And then if you want to hack us all to bits on your way out to the hyperlanes, then - ope, there it is..."

The blade of Kylo Ren's lightsaber zapped once more into silent dormancy as the hilt drooped from its master's listless fingers. It dropped and clattered to the floor. Ben's eyes fluttered and slid shut and he stumbled one step before he lost conciousness, passing out in Omar's waiting arms.

"Oof! Alright, okay. Someone help me!"

Rey jumped to lend him a hand, but found Finn offered better assistance. Together they busied themselves with the task of wrangling Ben Solo's prone form onto the top of a nearby table. With a pang of sorrow she couldn't quite explain, Rey bent to retrieve the forgotten lightsaber from the ground. She felt its peculiar ache travel up her arm and take root in the crooks of her joints. She wasted no time in clipping it to her belt.

"What do you think?" Rose asked as she met her side, pounding her elbows into her hips as she held her blaster in one hand, and the substantial heft of the flamethrower in the other. "Is this a good look for me?"

"Hah! You look hot!" Rey laughed, allowing the pun to release some tension and tickle the unease out of her belly.

"Little or'dinii like you'll blow your own head off with that," Sonora Deshra grumbled where she lay, trying to make herself more comfortable on a carpet of broken glass.

"What should we do with her?" Rey asked the room, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Shoot her," Omar answered, typically taciturn, from where he sat applying a bacta patch to the gunshot on his leg.

"Hah! Right! This one's stomach is too soft for murder," the bounty hunter teased her.

"I don't know if you've looked around lately," Rey returned the jab, jutting her chin in a display of bravado she wasn't sure she actually felt, "but all of your friends are dead."

"They died with honor. They died for the hunt. Something you wouldn't understand, aruetii."

"I understand that you've likely seen someone we're looking for. I also understand that you wanted me alive for a reason. And I know that if we've run into you, then the odds are good we'll probably run into a lot more of you. Maybe we can cut a deal."

Sonora just shook her head and chuckled to herself before spitting a wad of bloody phlegm out onto the floor. Aside from that, she remained silent.

"Trust me," Omar told her as he tested his balance on his own two feet, "you should just shoot her and be done with it. Anything less is a waste of time."

"But Poe warned us we were going to be ambushed. If he knew they were going to be here, then they've likely seen -"

She was interrupted by a faint, pained moan coming from near the bounty hunter, hiding behind the dark wooden mass of the bar. Coming from... a face attached to the fingertip Rey had seen before the fight began. Circling around, she could finally fully see the figure lying on the floor where he'd likley been lying for a considerable amount of time.

"Heh, would ya look at that," Sonora grinned with contempt as Rose and Finn gathered the electronet to incarcerate her as their newest prisoner, "the toughest guy in the room..."

Rey righted an adjacent overturned chair as Omar knelt next to the man, examining his injuries and helping him take a seat. The eyes he blinked and rubbed were a very alien-looking, solid shiny black. In place of hair, his head was a nest of long, fleshy tentacles that were held together by a colorful strip of braided leather. His facial features, on the other hand, could certainly have been described as handsome, and his skin was a lovely shade of bluish grey. Rey retrieved a small glass of water from behind the bar, which the man accepted... but with clear distrust. It only took him a couple of sips before he noticed the sorry, dilapidated state of his establishment... and all of the dead bodies littering the floor.

"Oh no..." he muttered, dropping the glass into a shattered puddle on the floor as he stood and brought a hand to his forehead. "No..." he tottered a couple steps forward in disbelief, "... not again. Not again..."

"Again?" Rey asked the man. "What do you mean, not again? Has this happened bef-"

"Get out! All of you - OUT! I have the local authorities on standby this time - I can have them here faster than you can... stars, look at all of the blood, how am I going to... merciful Maker..."

"It's okay, it's alright," Omar assuaged the man, "we're leaving, we're leaving. We'll be out of your hair in just a -"

"Shouldn't we help him clean up?" Rose offered.

"NO!" the man screamed. "Just GET OUT!" He wrung his hands through the roots of his tentacles. "Stars... this is gonna cost a fortune..."

"Shouldn't we at least offer him some money?"

"You can try, but I think we have better places to be," Omar answered her.

"But where is that?" Finn asked. "This is where Poe told us to come - we still don't know where he is. He knew this was a trap - what if he's in trouble? We need answers!"

"I really think we've done all we can do here -"

"No. Look." Finn showed the man both of his empty palms as a peaceful display before he stepped toward him. "We want to get the hell out of here just as badly as you want us to. But we can't do that until we know who was here before - can you tell us anything about them? Do you know where they went?"

"I don't have to tell you anything!" the man bellowed as he stooped to pluck a blaster rifle from the hands of the nearest dead body. "And I don't have to wait for the authorities either! I didn't kill these people - this is self-defense!"

"Woah, wait!" Finn slipped on a scree of loose rubble in his attempt to back away, nearly crashing into Rose and toppling them both. "We didn't do any - we didn't mean - we were just trying to -"

"GET OUT!" the man bellowed one last time as he brought the blaster's sights in line with one inky, black eye.

But then the rifle was yanked away from his startled, trembling hands with a sudden, unseen Force. His entire body seized - his limbs jerked and grew rigid as he stared with dull, empty eyes into far off, open space. Everyone turned to look at Rey who stood with her arm outstretched, fingers cupped as if to take hold of the man's slack-jawed chin and tilt it toward her, stealing his attention.

"I'm sorry," she told the man before she risked a glance toward Finn and Rose who, for all of their aplomb, still managed to look genuinely afraid of her in that moment. "I'm sorry," she repeated, horrified with herself, "but we have to know."

And then she forced her way into his mind.

She pushed her way past a hanging gauntlet of images, brushing across her mind like dangling tapestries as she stampeded through them, uninvited, one by one. Pictures of a wife and children, of a raucous party that took place in the tavern some indeterminable amount of time ago, of a beautiful sunset over the canyon, of a letter written to a family member who lived on another planet... But then she saw them. Poe. And Maz. But Connix... Connix was missing. And the bar was crawling with Mandalorians...

Rey hadn't known Poe long, but she'd known him long enough to recognize the dark, downturned pull of his features - one that spelled defeat and shame... and fear.

And there was the man, the one from the holoprojector. The one named Harlan Nylk.

What happened? Who were these people? And where did they go?

"I don't know," the man answered her unasked question, "but when the authorities returned to take our statement, they said they were last seen heading toward the Temple."

"The Temple?" Rey echoed the word in confusion. "What Temple?"

"The ancient one... on the ridge..." The man seemed to take control of his own extremities once again, slumping forward and bending his spine of his own free will. He rubbed his forehead before dragging his hand down his face. "It's as much a maze as it is a ruin. With any luck you'll be lost there forever - now will you please go?!"

"Yes," Rey could only mumble, shaking as she stood motionless, transfixed by guilt and disgust. She felt like a creature. She felt like a criminal. She felt like a rapist. Telling herself that she did what she had to do was no consolation. There was nothing that could repair the damage she'd done to her own soul... to violate the sanctity of a person's innermost private thoughts... to exhibit such a magnitude of power... and there was a part of her - a small, cruel fraction - that liked it.

She was a monster.

"Rey," Finn whispered to her as he laid a warm, reassuring hand on her shoulder. It wasn't enough to chase away the lingering sense of horror that had only just faded from his face. "What was it Leia said once? The philosophy of war?"

For Rey, this war couldn't end soon enough. She only nodded, willing the tears welling in her eyes to recede. Rose took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. She was grateful for her friends... but in that moment she still felt just so, so far away from them.

"Let's go," Rose told her.

"You better pull yourself together, girl," Sonora Deshra barked from the door as Omar gripped her by the shoulders, directing her toward the Twilight Zephyr waiting outside. "Where we're going, there's a whole lot worse than innocent tavern keepers." She cackled maniacally as she tumbled her way onto the deck of the hovering vehicle, landing accidentally in a seat a bit sideways. "There's ghosts out there, girl..." she said, peering back at her over one shoulder. "Old ones. Angry ones.

" _Dark_ ones.

"And they remember..."

"Remember what?" Rey asked before she could control her mouth.

"Betrayal? What else? Ancient wars. Where the Whole was sundered, and legends were born, passed from generation to generation. One of ours was a member of your great Order once, did you know that? Yes, yes - there's history there, girl.

"And _power_."

She laughed again until her twisted humor dissolved into a fit of thick, gurgling coughs.

"And..." she continued, "and you're going to take _Kylo Ren_ there with you."


	17. Ch 17: The Temple (Part Two)

**Chapter Seventeen - The Temple (Part Two)**

Even the silver-haired bounty hunter had gone queerly quiet. The woman had been berating everything from their combat strategy to their fashion sense for the better two-thirds of their trek up the rocky path into the mountains beyond Kalikori Town. Finn had begun to suspect that the loud, rambling prattle of her voice was simply a tactic used to alert hidden snipers on the ridge to her presence. But now that she was suddenly mute... he had his reservations. And he felt abruptly moved to silence as well. Everyone did. Even the doctor, Omar, had stopped grumbling about Force users and their incessant need to incite constant chaos, and had resorted to fussing over Kylo Ren's split sutures without words. For a change.

In all, though, the road to the enigmatic Temple was truly a beautiful, peaceful ride. They'd hit the mountain pass late in the day, and the low, red radiance of the western sun hit the earthy, pink granite that bordered their path just right, sparkling as it highlighted every mineral facet embedded in the ancient stone. The road ahead was guarded by a tall, lush, crowded stand of evergreens that did their best smother the sound of a roaring waterfall hidden from view beyond the ridge. Honestly, it was like a travel brochure. He looked to Rose where she sat at the helm of the Zephyr. She must have sensed his eyes on her - she peeked at him over her shoulder and smiled warmly... but there was unease etched into the lines of that smile.

Same as him. Same as everyone.

If there was one thing Finn had learned since he'd left his mundane military life behind to cavort across the galaxy with a known Force user, it was that the Force touched everything. And everyone. Only those who were sensitive to it could make use of that connection, but it didn't change the fact that the Force connected everything in the entire galaxy, as if it held them all in the palm of its hands. It made him wonder, though... rolling up on a place rumored to be strong in the Force... if one didn't necessarily need to be sensitive to it to sort of... pick up on it. He felt a strange shiver crawl up his neck, from where it met his shoulders. He curled his hands around his upper arms and rubbed them up and down, as if warding off a chill.

He looked to Rey and was unsurprised to see her eyes scanning everything - the ridge, the trees, the road ahead, even the road behind them. Her eyes were wide and her lips pressed together with concern. Nothing felt right. Perhaps it was the latent residue of their recent ambush wearing off... but Finn didn't think so. And he didn't think Rey did, either. It was definitely the Force.

He turned when he heard Rose hum a note of inquiry, ending a silence that had become strained. He shifted in his seat to get a better look at the road as she slowed the Zephyr to a stop.

There was a fork ahead of them.

The left fork continued up the ridge. It was dotted with highland wildflowers and was sweetly bathed in the soft, serene glow of imminent sunset. The right fork was... not. The right fork turned into a close, thick copse of gnarled trees that were mired in a dense haze of fog. It was spooky and dark and every ounce the kind of scenery that kept younglings awake in their beds at night. The choice was a droll caricature of itself and enough to make Finn laugh. Almost.

"Which way?" Rey demanded, terse with irritation toward the Deshra woman. And Finn couldn't blame her. Of all the reactions one should feel when discovering a bounty has been placed on one's head, irritation was likely the most reasonable on the list. Rey had labored in vain for the bulk of the trip to wrangle details out of the woman, but in the end she wouldn't talk. At least not about that. Everything else, sure - just not that.

"Why don't you use the Force, jetii?" Sonora Deshra replied. "This is your temple being desecrated, isn't it? Think it might have something to say to you?"

Rey sat back in her seat for a minute, arms crossed and churlish at having been chastised by the woman on the appropriate usage of the Force in their situation, but ultimately she let her curiosity get the better of her.

"Hold here," she instructed Rose as she hopped out of the back and wandered to the front of the vehicle.

"Rey, do we really know that this is a Jedi temple...?" Finn hissed at her back, letting his voice trail off in his unwillingness to be heard by anything lurking in those dark shadows.

She showed no indication that she heard him. Instead, she stood before the prow with her eyes closed for a long moment, her hands held out beside her and her fingers splayed open as if she was searching the soft slip of the breeze for any sign or clue. Across from Finn, Kylo Ren began to murmur. It was nothing more than incoherent consonants in his unconscious state, but it was the first peep anyone had heard out of the man since they'd left the tavern in Kalikori Town.

Then suddenly Rey straightened, as if she saw something passing through the misty bank of fog up ahead. He could tell it was indiscernable at first, judging by how she leaned forward on her leading foot and squinted her eyes. But then she jerked upright with recognition and smiled before she jogged her way back and clambered over the Zephyr's port side to take her seat.

"Take the right fork," she smiled, catching her breath.

"Th... that one?" Rose confirmed, wrinkling her nose as she made a very small pointing gesture toward the direction in question.

"Yep! That's the one!"

"Oh. Okay." Bravely, Rose shrugged and gulped, and turned the helm toward the right.

"You know," Finn told Rey as he eyed the trees, watching them loom nearer, convinced he could see shapes glide between them... with eyes... and teeth... "you don't have to be so cheerful about it..."

"Don't worry," she told him as she laid a hand on his shoulder, grinning ear to ear with the infectuous sort of confidence that would make a Jedi master proud, "Luke is with us."

But Luke was dead. And for all Finn knew, this Temple... thing... place was nothing more than an old, creepy graveyard for other dead Force users. Whose ghosts were also wandering around, disembodied. So, basically, they left behind a known trap, which they naturally sprung and rung themselves up a not-inconsequential body count, so they could then walk headlong into a scary, haunted graveyard-Temple-thing?

What was it about the First Order he'd hated so much again? Why did he leave? Sometimes he really struggled to remember. The only thing that gave him any peace of mind was the pair of fresh, fully charged power packs he dug out of his ruck sack.

He was ready for round two.

* * *

"You know," Luke said to Rey as he sat next to her, his pale blue outline cooling her skin even through the wool of her cloak, "I thought of coming here once, back when I... you know. Back then. When it happened."

"When you left?" she answered him.

"What?" Finn asked her. "When who left? I don't understand."

"Oh, no - I'm talking to Luke."

"Oh! You meant he's _with_ us, with us. One day I will stop thinking that's a metaphor."

"To be fair," Rose said over her shoulder, "sometimes it is."

"Either that or Force users are all frog-dog crazy," Sonora teased, but there was no levity in her smile. Rey didn't take the bait.

"As I was saying," Luke continued, "I had considered this place. I mean, who wouldn't? Look at it." He bounced his robed arms on his lap once as he glanced about, soaking up the scenery. Despite the dusky, sinister atmosphere, the trees were quite grand - stately and tall - and the verdant ferns that peppered the ground between them were a lively haven for little glowing, floating bugs. As long as they stayed on the path, it had redeemable charm. "Deep forests and mountains and rushing rivers and waterfalls... so full of life and plenty... And Kalikori? Isn't that place great? Can't you feel the Force just, I dunno..." he took a deep breath and shook his head as his eyes lingered on the first twinkle of starlight that appeared overhead, "just rejoicing?"

Rejoicing is not the word Rey would have chosen. Salivating, maybe. Like something hungry up ahead was waiting to swallow them whole.

"I mean," he went on, "you've gotta admit, it's a whole lot more inviting than a cold, rainy wet rock in the middle of an ocean, right?" He did have her there. "But, sadly, if you're trying to become a recluse, do you build your home next to the quaint little mountain resort town of Kalikori, or... do you choose the wet, rainy wet rock in the middle of an ocean?"

"I suppose you have a point," she conceded. "But why does this place feel so... so frightening to me? If you love it so much?"

"Search your heart, girl. You know the answer to this one. There were places on Ahch-To that frightened you, too. Although, in my opinion, not enough..."

"Is it the dark side?"

"In a manner of looking at things, I suppose so. There's more than just power here - there's history. A lot happened here, a long time ago. A schism. And the land remembers."

"And it's afraid we're coming to make it worse?"

"Well..."

At that moment, near the helm of the catamaran, Ben Solo stirred again. This time his murmurs were more of a shout, like that of a person in the throes of an inescapable nightmare. His body twisted where it lay, slumped gracelessly sideways in a seat that wasn't managing to properly support his frame in that position.

"Easy buddy," Omar told him, ducking away from one of his elbows as it lashed out at him while changing a soiled bacta patch. "Easy, easy. We almost there yet? His blood pressure is dropping, I can feel it. We need to get him warm and on some fluids."

"You know," Rey turned a pointed glare over to Sonora Deshra, "I get that you don't want to submit to interrogation. I get that. But I really don't think a simple yes or no is too much to ask for here."

"I don't really care," the woman sneered at her.

"We didn't have to keep you alive."

"You're absolutely right. What's stopping you?"

"You really want to die?"

"You really don't understand the meaning of the word, 'futile,' do you?" Omar groused as he passed an instrument over Ben to check his vitals and his temperature. "She's a Mandalorian. She absolutely wants to die. I tried to tell you - you'd've done everyone here a favor."

"If we stoop to that level, then we're no better than..."

Rey lost her train of thought when she thought she saw something dart between the trees on the right hand side of the path. Something tall, flowing, and pale... something with a face. She narrowed her eyes to try to follow it through the murk of the tangled woods but it melted away like nothing more than a silvery puff of vapor.

"Did... what was... did I just..." she stammered under her breath to Luke, who seemed blithely content to enjoy the ride and the dewy evening air.

"You did," he told her. His carefree attitude was starting to get on her nerves.

"What... was that?" she asked him as quietly as she could to keep from alarming the others. Sonora Deshra heard her, though, and snickered to herself as she kept her eyes glued to the road snaking away behind them.

"They're just spirits, nothing more," Luke said.

"What? What do you mean, nothing -"

"No!" Ben Solo cried out, loudly this time - loud enough to echo through the forest. Loud enough to draw attention. From... anything. "N-no! Stop!"

" _You_ stop, you big flapping thranta!" Omar growled in aggravation. "I'm not doing this with you again! Rey, there's gotta be some kind of mind trick or something you could use here - help me out!"

"I..."

There it was again. A slender column of mist with a head and shoulders and a long, opalescent robe trailing behind it, swirling like a false promise of water on a desert horizon. But then where there was one... there were now two. And then three.

And more.

Some were women. Some were men. Some looked to her like a beacon. Others shrunk from her in distrust. And then there were others in countless shapes she'd never seen, not even in the busy trading outposts on Jakku. They weaved through the trees as they followed the Zephyr, and some were brazen enough to march alongside.

"Who are they?" she asked Luke. "What do they want?"

"The first time you met him," Luke told her, nodding his head toward the tossing and turning form of Ben Solo near the helm, "what did you feel?"

"Fear," she answered him honestly. "I thought he was going to kill me."

"That's understandable, sure, but that's not what I'm asking."

In truth, there was something else. Something she'd never told anyone. Something she'd never voiced outside of her own head. And it lived in that secret place in her mind, collected in that tiny box of things she didn't know how to name. It was like a spark, the first time she saw him. It had shocked her, like a tiny buzz up her spine where her neck met her shoulders. Something like the universe, or fate, or the Force, or... whatever. Something like...

"It was... it was strange," she said. "It was like... recognition." It was a little thrilling to finally just... say it. To finally tell someone.

"Yes. Yes it was, wasn't it."

"Which was so bizarre because I'd never seen him before in my entire life. And even then, the first time I saw him, he was still hidden behind a mask. How can anyone recognize someone behind a mask?"

"How indeed."

"And it happened again and again. When I met his mother, Leia. When I met you. When I met Omar's children. This weird little... tickle. It's hard to explain."

"Is it? What do you think it is? What do you think is drawing these spirits here to you?"

"The Force," was the obvious answer. "We sense it in each other, don't we?"

"Yes," Luke beamed with pride, his student finally having come to her own correct conclusion. "Yes, we sure do. When I met my sister for the first time -"

"Wait, you didn't -"

"No, we didn't grow up together. It's a long story, I'll tell you later," he winked at her. "But when I met her for the first time, I felt the same thing. And I didn't know what it was then, either. This weird little... zap."

"Yes! Yes - exactly! Like a little zap!"

"Yes. People like us, who experience the Force in a different way than others do - we can sense each other. We recognize this gift in each other. The Force connects us all, but those of us who are sensitive to it can quite literally feel that connection between us. Like touching an exposed live wire. For some of these spirits, it breaths life back into them again. For others, its a reminder of conflicts long since past. They all know what you're capable of, but they don't know your intentions. For some it is an kinship but others... a threat."

"Aren't you one of them now...?" Rey asked tentatively, unsure if her question would offend him. But her mouth got away before she could stop it. "Can you talk to them?"

"I can," he smiled as he dropped his chin to his chest. "But these folks are a whole lot older than me. Spirits this old... all they like to do is talk. They have a lot to say, and they just want to say it over and over. I mean, how often do you think people get up here anymore? It's overbearing, really." He inclined his head toward her. "You listen a lot more than they do. It's refreshing."

"I won't tell Omar you said that. Can you tell them we don't mean them any harm?"

"I could, but I'm not sure they'd believe me. They sense it too, Rey - there's still a darkness in you."

She knew there was. And it wasn't just her inexperience or a lack of education in the ways of the Force this time. It wasn't just her empathy, or her passions, or her fiery, tempestuous nature. It wasn't her occasional impulsiveness, or her infernal reckless fearlessness that sometimes robbed her of a rational sense of caution about things. This time it was her own guilt. The memory of her recent intrusion into the mind of the innocent tavern keeper... her sin of force, her lack of consent... it weighed down on her like she carried a mountain on her back.

"And then, of course," Luke's voice broke through her thoughts once more, "there's him."

Ben Solo. Kylo Ren.

Even in his fitful, fevered state he was still a hell-worn dam that scarcely contained a sea of rage and a threat of violence.

And of course there was also the bond through the Force that bound them with a shining, silver thread. They might as well be two halves of the same whole.

"Well," she sighed, "we'll just have to prove it then. Stay on our best behavior. Rescue Poe and Maz and Connix, then get the hell out of here as fast as we can, and give these poor souls back their peace and quiet."

"On the other hand," Luke told her, smiling as he stood and began to fade away, "you're also the most interesting thing that's happened to them for probably the past few hundred years. If you give 'em something to think about... they'll probably do the same for you."

"Oh!" Rose's note of surprise stole her attention back toward the helm of the vehicle. "Torches! I think I see torches up ahead."

It was true - merry little orange balls of flame flickered up ahead, doing their best to light their way, yet through contrast they only served to make the dark parts seem even darker. It was the promise, though, that someone ahead was waiting for them. Someone living. And probably someone armed and ready. Rey felt her stomach clench in a grip that was becoming familiar.

"Oya manda," she heard Sonora whisper to herself. "Ni cuy'dar..." She didn't know what it meant, but it was unusually sad for the woman. It certainly didn't bode well.

"Should we stop here?" Rey asked the group, searching for consensus. "Stash the Zephyr and go the rest of the way on foot?"

"I wouldn't," Omar answered her.

"But Ben is in no condition to -"

"I know, but I'm nervous about leaving him anywhere alone." Which was a pretty serious point. "Plus, if we need to make a quick getaway, it'll be easier if we don't have to run back up the trail first."

Committed, then, to their course of action, they rallied themselves and gathered fresh weaponry, and pulled their straps a little tighter. They followed the row of torches past a crumbling, stony bulwark and drove through an overgrown bailey yard into the mossy, haunted ruin of the old Jedi Temple.

And they were escorted the entire way by a silent, stoic entourage of ageless wandering spirits.

* * *

Kylo Ren felt paralyzed. He couldn't move his arms or legs... they were just so... so weak. Everything was weak. All he could see were flashes of light - red light. His light. His lightsaber. It seared through the air before his eyes, waving back and forth, streaking glowing crimson lines that burnt their memory across his vision.

Fighting. He was fighting. Or he was a moment ago... he was sure of it. Wasn't he? Some sort of trouble? Wasn't there trouble? What was happening? Where was he?

"I see you," a voice from the darkness whispered in his ear. It was a thin, jolly little whisper, like something wicked playing a game. Beside him a tiny white face began to manifest itself out of nothing. "We all do..."

Kylo Ren was more than mildly accustomed to voices in his head. For him, it was a lifestyle. But there was something menacing in that little wisp of a voice. Something big, something powerful... something dangerous. Something old. And then there was another face. Another voice.

"We know what you are..."

How could they? He had his mask, didn't he? The mask that made him someone else? The mask that hid his frailty, his reasons, his sorrows... hid his fears, his face, his shame... his name... Where did it go? What did he do with it?

"We know who you are..."

"No," he gasped as he reached toward his face with numb fingers and felt nothing... nothing at all. "N-no... get away..."

There were many of them, now - tall, columnar figures pressed closely against each other like a pale, wild forest of moving white trees, with fingers like branches reaching to rake themselves over his skin.

"You cannot escape the truth..."

"N-no! No! Y-you stop! Don't touch me!"

"... that is your family..."

Their soulless eyes were dead and hollow... their open mouths were a screaming, soundless void...

"Sky... walkerrrr..."

"Stop!" he tried to wrest himself away but was once again denied the gift of movement. "NO!" Their claws made marks against his skin that he couldn't feel. And then he saw the chains that bound his wrists.

Trapped. He was trapped.

"What do you want with this place?" the monsters asked him. Over and over again they asked him. A question with no answer. "What do you want?"

He pulled against his bonds, but was still too weak to pry them off.

"What do you want?"

He searched for the saber that had lit the darkness earlier, but found it had been stolen from him.

"What do you want"

He felt again for his mask but only grasped at empty air. Where was his mask? Where was his mother? Where was Rey? Where was his safety?

"What do you -"

"NO!"

Ivory twigs like bones reached for his face - reached to trace the scar that left a mark and told a story. They reached to peel the skin from his skull, to pull away the mask and pry the secrets from inside.

"NO! DON'T TOUCH ME!" he screamed. He writhed and fought and screamed until red lights began to flash in the distance once more.

"Would you knock it off!" Omar Entero hissed at him as he ducked just in time to dodge Ren's cuffed fists flying through the air. "Why can't you pass out like normal people, huh? What is wrong with you? This arm is still broken, by the way. Stun cuffs constrict the more you fight them - I literally just fixed this."

He was awake again, being transported on the wind catamaran, slipping sideways out of a seat that fought admirably to contain his mad, flailing tantrum. The flashing orange lights in the distance coalesced into pinpoints - the luminous glow of torches heralding their path through an ancient, vine-smothered series of rotting, dilapidated structures. And though the dream had left him, it left behind a feeling he couldn't shake... the feeling of being watched.

Of being judged.

"Here," Omar tugged at him, assisting him in getting better situated. "Sure don't envy the demons that live inside your head, kid." Ren noticed the Turncoat Trooper sitting across from him, doing everything he could to look anywhere else and keep his expression neutral. Nonchalance was clearly not his strong suit. Bitterly, Ren hoped he got a good show. Once more upright, he could feel clammy, cold sweat rolling down his spine.

"I've had worse," he muttered, but wasn't sure he was heard. At that moment, the telltale roar of jet engines split the somber serenity that blanketed the old temple like a thick coat of dust. The landing lights perched on the underbelly of the craft blinded them as they passed overhead to make landfall behind the cover of a decrepit brick wall.

"We've got company," Rose stated the obvious before slowing the Zephyr's rate of speed.

"Maybe Poe is with 'em," Finn breathed hopefully as he leaned his elbows on his knees.

"It's probably another ambush," Ren heard Rey mumble near the back of the vehicle, uncharacteristically cynical. He probably shouldn't have turned the look on her that he did.

"What?" she asked him. "I've lost track of how many times I've been shot at since I left Jakku. Don't suppose I have you to thank for a lot of that..."

Ren couldn't feel any chagrin toward her little jab. For starters, there wasn't any fire behind it. It felt more like she was teasing him, although he sometimes had trouble reading girls. But Kylo Ren was not one to cower in the face of his own misdeeds. He was made of his scars, and he was going to own them.

"You have my lightsaber," he replied to her, nonplussed.

"Is that some sort of a fair trade?" In the face of an ambush? Yes.

"You could always give it back..."

"Hmph."

She rose to stand on the deck and survey their surroundings as Rose pulled to a stop in a clearing, half-ringed by a chain of burning torches. Beside him, Omar began to stow away his medical field box after he tied a strip of linen around the wound on his own ankle. Finn lent a hand to Rose as she climbed her way down from the pilot's seat.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Rey shot back at him as her boots hit the dirt, her hand heavy on the hilt of the saber in question, where it hung from her belt. "Stay here," she instructed everyone still on board, "stay together - I'm going to scout ahead."

She made it two steps before General Poe Dameron of the Resistance Fleet stepped into the ring of light from behind the lee of the brick wall.

"Stay where you are," he said out loud, although there was no threat in his voice, and his hands were held over his head. "Stay where they can see you."

 _They_.

It _was_ an ambush.

"We just can't catch a break today," Ren heard Omar grumble in the seat beside him. He had no sympathy. It wasn't like any of them were left to fight Mandalorians unarmed in a pair of stun cuffs. Again.

Maz Kanata stumbled after Poe on her short little legs, barely granting her clearance over the tangles of brambles and weeds that clogged the ruins. Her hands were also held atop her head. Ren had visited the woman with his father a number of times as a child, and he knew that the face she was making meant no one a single ounce of good. Poe Dameron was nothing here. Maz Kanata was the one not to be fooled with.

Following them both were two men clad toe to helm in heavy, drab-colored, battle-scarred armor... that which bore the signature sheen of a retribution feedback shield. And they were both armed with military grade, E-1 Imperial assault cannons.

"I'm so sorry," Poe told Rey as he crossed into range close enough for conversation.

"No closer!" one of their guards yelled after them, and Poe froze. Those cannons were serious business. Ren briefly wondered how a retribution feedback shield would handle a full blast from one of those things at close range. Or both of them.

"I'm sorry," Dameron continued. "I should have seen this coming."

"No, no. It's my fault," Maz declared, "I should have known something wasn't right from the beginning. Nylk isn't someone I've dealt with before - I should have kept my suspicions about me. I've grown complacent in my old age. Where... where's Chewie?"

 _Stars, this again_ , Ren thought to himself as his eyes rolled back in his head. Her weird preoccupation with that giant, flea-bitten fuzz jungle was the reason his dad tried to give him "the talk" the first time, when he was eight.

"He's on the ship," Rey reassured the lovesick woman. "He stayed behind with the -"

"Shhzhhdt!" Omar shushed her.

"He's, uh... he's back on the ship. Where's Connix?"

"They've got her. She's..." Poe's voice trailed off for a moment as his eyes searched the ground for a consolation that didn't exist. "She's... collateral."

"She's a hostage, then."

"It should be me," he moaned, grief-stricken with guilt and remorse, "not her. She's fought way too many battles for someone so young. I'm the higher profile prisoner here - it should be me..."

"Maybe we could arrange a hostage exchange?" Rey suggested.

Ren turned toward the back of the Zephyr when he heard a harsh, wheezing bellow of a laugh. For the first time since he woke up, he noticed their newest prisoner - the silver-haired bounty hunter from the tavern.

"You're such a sweet girl," she rasped between the gap in her front teeth, "you're too good for all of this. How'd you wind up oya'kari, huh? You should go home," she nodded sagely as she stared down at the net that held her bound, "or someplace where you can't be found. Get out of this."

"No, I'm serious - she's their leader. If we -"

"Cuy'gar a Mando?" Maz asked the woman sternly. The only reply she got from her was the twinkle of firelight in her eyes.

"She is," Omar confirmed.

"Then it will never work."

"I don't understand," Rey protested, growing frustrated with the situation. "We saved her life - certainly that has to -"

"I've been trying to tell you all along, kid," Omar said to her, "you weren't doing anybody any favors. It's not how Mandalorian culture works."

"He's right," Maz agreed. "Your prisoner allowed herself to be taken captive. In the eyes of her clan, she's worse than dead. She's disgraced. She's been stripped of all of her honor, she's completely disavowed. She's no one. And she has no value to them anymore. They'd put her down themselves if any of them felt she was worth expending the energy."

"You should've shot 'er," Omar repeated himself.

"She's no murderer..." the bounty hunter laughed. And it was true. This much Kylo Ren knew about Rey from Jakku. She was the quintessential epithet of the light side of the Force. She was an ideal Jedi. She was fierce and she was skilled, and if you tried to strike her down she'd leave a scar on you from eyebrow to breast bone, but... she was no killer. A protector, yes. A defender. But not a killer.

Kylo Ren was a killer.

Rey from Jakku may not fear the dark. She may even let it reach across the galaxy and touch her. But there was no way she'd ever drown in it... not the way he had.

"So..." Rey replied. "So, what do we do?"

"You come with us," one of the guards spoke up and answered her. "And you play nice. You're wanted alive. If you cooperate until we get paid, everyone goes home happy. They just want to ask you a few questions."

"Seems like a lot of trouble to go through for a few measly questions," Rey growled in irritation as Finn and Rose departed the vehicle, off-loading Sonora Deshra with great care. Beside him, Omar rose and snaked a hand beneath Ren's left arm to help him up.

"Not that one," the second guard called out suddenly as he stalked forward and brought his cannon to his hip. "That one stays here."

"That one" was referring to Kylo Ren. And that's when he remembered something one of the bounty hunters said to him back in the tavern.

 _The deal on you is dead or no deal, buddy._

What, so they just thought they'd walk him off into the woods and collect on their bounty the old fashioned way? Like he was nothing more than some helpless lamb for slaughter?

Something hot surged down the line of the bond he shared with Rey from Jakku. What once had been a barrier now acted as a conduit. Her anger reached deep inside of him and stoked the inferno that breathed life into his own fury... and he didn't try to stop it. Not this time. He'd spent a lifetime being feared - a lifetime being conditioned into believing his emotions were something aberrant and reprehensible. He'd spent a lifetime allowing someone to manipulate them into nothing more than a weapon or a tool. He'd spent a lifetime trying to shove them behind a featureless mask so that they would disappear and no one would know even they existed. To keep everyone safe. To keep him safe.

But not this time. This felt like an invitation. This felt like permission. And this time he wasn't alone. That rush of anger - true, justified anger... it felt like a weight lifting from his shoulders. Sweet stars it felt so good.

As if they were both puppets on the end of the same string, he and Rey raised their arms together. Poe Dameron shrieked a cry of alarm as he pounded one knee into the dirt and threaded his hands through his hair. Gaping, he watched both giant, fearsome assault cannons fly from the hands of their mystified owners to disappear somewhere off in the deep, dark, creepy haunted forest.

One guard reached for his vibroblade and the other pulled his blaster, but Rey had already ignited Kylo Ren's lightsaber. The thing hummed with lethal power, loud in the sudden pause, and it threw long and ghastly shadows as she turned it in one lazy circle.

"He's coming with us."

"Look," the guard with the blaster tried to reason with her, "the terms of our agreement -"

"I don't care about your agreement," she spat with venom in her voice, "you know who he is, don't you?"

"Of course we do. We don't make mistakes like that."

"Oh really? Then you know that those stun cuffs don't make a damned bit of difference - Kylo Ren draws power from pain, and he'll snap your neck from forty paces away. You know that, don't you?"

"Everyone just keep calm," the man with the vibroblade pleaded, his arms held wide. "This doesn't have to -"

"You don't want to end up like your buddies, do you? The ones who didn't make it out of Kalikori Town? Or worse... you don't want to end up like _her_?" Rey nodded her head toward the bound form of Sonora Deshra. "You don't think he'll do it? You don't think he wants to? I am the only thing here that can stop him, and I've got half a mind to let him! I've got half a mind to let him annihilate every single last one of you and take our people back by force!"

The string between them snapped tight, drawing them closer together than ever. Close enough he could almost feel her skin, her breath, her clenched fist. Close enough he wondered if maybe a little of his own burning self-destruction wasn't bleeding over into her, through that place where their separate parts touched. The firewall that was now a wick.

"The only reason I haven't," she continued, "is because you have a hostage, and I want a few answers from your master. Otherwise, this would be going a very different way."

"Yeah, you like to talk big, but this isn't our first hunt."

"And if you play nice, it doesn't have to be your last. Cooperate, and everyone goes home happy. That's how this goes, right? Have I got that right?"

She stood her ground, she stared the man down, and she didn't blink. Surly silence was her only answer. They barely even breathed.

"He _is_ coming with us," she said again, in no uncertain terms.

"Damn," Omar chuckled beside him, his impression of the girl clearly changing. The fight in Kalikori Town had made her cocky. But Kylo Ren knew she wasn't wrong. Throughout his young adult years, he'd been consistently labeled as prideful or arrogant. When the truth of his bloodline had finally been revealed to him, the effect had been detrimentally divisive to him socially... so to protect himself he had decided to wear it like a suit of armor. To put it on display, to brandish it like a blade. If it was something that gave him power, then it could never be used to hurt him.

But the truth was, Kylo Ren was never more than a man of facts. And the simple fact was that he was a direct, blood-born descendant of the Force itself, and his body was a vessel for a potential that few could truly understand.

But Rey from Jakku did. And nothing she said was wrong.

But it also didn't change another fact: bounties didn't disappear until they were collected or paid out. The contract for Rey was a simple matter. The mark on his head was a separate issue entirely. She couldn't keep him close to her forever. He knew from recent experience that hyper-vigilance had a shelf life. She had to close her eyes sometime. And she was naive if she didn't think that eventually she'd be forced into a position where she had to choose between saving him... and someone else. Or even the galaxy. And, really, he wasn't sure he wanted her to fight this fight for him anyway.

"Fine," the Mandalorian with the blaster gave in at last. "Have it your way. But this isn't over." He returned his firearm to his holster and turned to lead the way as his partner slid his blade into its sheath and joined him. "Try to keep up."

For a moment Ren lagged while Omar tugged at his elbow. There was a wild, fickle part of him that wanted to give those men their shot in the woods. Wanted to give them a good, satisfying fight. Maybe even let them get close to thinking they'd won. And then, after their bodies lay mangled at his feet, he'd have a head start during which no one would really know if he was alive or dead. And he could finally be...

No. No he'd never be that. He'd still be hunted. If not by Mandalorians, then by vigilantes in search of vengeance or justice... or some Trandoshan trophy hunter for jagannath points... or he'd be done in by something as stupid as disease or exposure or starvation... or he'd just wither away from loneliness.

Where would he go? Where could he possibly show his face? And without the lightsaber he'd be forced to leave behind?

One foot jutted forward, and then the other stepped in front of it. And so he resigned himself to walk where he was led like a herded beast, once again forced to relinquish any hope for power or control over his own destiny.

Pah. Destiny. The stitches in his sides pulled as he stepped down from the deck of the Twilight Zephyr. They were an acrid reminder of the recent epiphany he'd had inflicted upon him at the cruel behest of General Armitage Hux.

There was no such thing as Destiny. There was only Choice.

Fine, then. If Rey from Jakku was so intent on choosing to keep him alive... then he would let her. But she couldn't do it alone. She would need someone to look out for her.

And that's what he would do.

* * *

Rey was cold, hungry, and tired. The mountain air was thin - it gave her a persistent, low-level headache, and it made her short of breath. And she had more important battles to fight than these dumb, petty skirmishes with hostage-taking criminal businessmen carrying guns and knives and electronets and stars-forsaken portable kriffing cannons for crying out loud.

This probably explained why she was quick to temper.

But Ben Solo had scarcely been awake for more than two minutes, mumbling something about an Infinite Engine and handing her a datapad full of vital (if not completely indecipherable) information before they were up to their necks in roving hoards of Mandalorians. They had better things to do. This was such a flagrant and exasperating waste of time.

There were blood stains on the front of Ben Solo's tunic. There was still a splint underneath the stun cuff on his right arm. And while the bruises on his face were fading thanks to the fast-acting bacta serum coursing through his blood stream, it was hard to ignore that they still were there. Rey remembered watching the Silencer slam down to a smoking, skidding stop. She remembered the black swath it left behind it in the dirt on Prakith. She remembered the blood, the tears, the fear, the fight - the desperation. She knew the inimitable, unstoppable force that was Ben Solo.

So what was it, then, that bade him risk his life, his limb, his safety...? What was it that made him cross the line between what risk was acceptable and what risk wasn't? What was it that made him believe that being sliced in half and then pummeled to death in the wreckage of a crashed starship was worth escaping the Vindicator and leaving the First Order behind? What was it that made certain death preferable to the throne of a Supreme Leader?

Something was happening out there. Something that made even Maz Kanata pale in fear. Something was out there, plotting its course and building its designs while they were stuck playing "balance the checkbook" with a bunch of mindless, penny-pinching bounty hunters. Ben Solo still had a story to tell, dammit, and she was not about to let something as ridiculous as a paycheck for his head rob her of that tale. The galaxy depended on it.

Her feet, stomping with purpose, brought her in line with Poe Dameron.

"Have they hurt anyone?" she asked him quietly, her voice hushed to keep their conversation private.

"No," he responded. "They made their threats, but the money was more important. Things got a little more intense once they discovered their other contract was on board your ship. But no one was hurt."

"Were they... with you...?" she probed with concern.

"They were. They were right there, practically drilling us on what to say."

"And I mentioned Arturo..."

"Yeah... but it's not your fault. We'll figure it out. Right now we have bigger problems. One crisis at a time." He brought two fingers to his face to rub his eyes. "I keep asking myself what Leia would have done."

"You can't -"

"She would outright call me an idiot and she'd be right."

"No," Rose whispered, having kept pace behind them. "Don't think like that. You can't let that get to you. I mean, General Leia Organa lived her whole life fighting battles, but even she couldn't keep the Starkiller from doing what it did to the Hosnian system."

"And Leia wrote the book on fighting wars with the Empire," Rey told him. "I don't think anyone, least of all her, would expect to be fighting a chairman of some board at this point," Rey reminded him.

Poe couldn't help the self-effacing laugh that escaped him.

"These are strange times indeed. This is the weirdest war in the history of wars. Thirty years of peace... I don't understand why anyone would want to go through all of this all over again." He scrubbed the back of his neck and scuffed the ground as he walked. "This galaxy was just starting to settle into its new normal, y'know? Now everyone's got an axe to grind. Heh... it's funny. I almost owe Kylo Ren a debt of thanks. The only reason we're doing this down here instead of carrying out a full scale invasion of your ship is because there was no place to park. You should've seen their faces."

Rey smiled at the mental image, in spite of their situation. Her gallows humor didn't linger, though. For at least the third time since they began their hike into the interior of the temple ruins she turned to look over her shoulder. Finn had Sonora Deshra by the arm as he gently escorted her past each blazing torch. He'd been listening intently to everything Poe had to say, but Sonora only had eyes for the ground. Behind him Omar limped along with his patient, seemingly in need of his own services, but he didn't let that slow his pace.

For a moment, Ben Solo's eyes met hers with the same firm, predatory gleam of anticipation that he'd shared with her on the Zephyr in Kalikori Town, before they'd found the tavern. But then they shifted to make a wide sweep from one side of the path to the other, searching high for snipers on walls, or gazing deep for shadows that moved in the darkness. She could feel his tension, buzzing down the line of their bond, crackling with bright, volatile energy like that born from the blade of his own lightsaber.

He was afraid.

It was the same sort of wary, sleepless, wide-eyed fear she'd found in him when they'd first probed each others minds... the first time he'd removed his mask for her. He was afraid he wasn't quick enough. He was afraid he'd be overpowered. He was afraid he was wrong about himself. And he was also afraid for her - afraid that she'd waste her opportunity to keep living in order to save him. He was afraid that her life was worth so much more than his.

"This isn't about me," his voice whispered between her ears, as if his chin rested upon her shoulder. "It never was. You have to live, okay? It has to be you. You have to win this."

She could feel his fear of death - that sour, vindictive, angry fear that those in the throes of the dark side felt toward their own looming mortality. The complete and distinct lack of peace and acceptance that the Jedi had come to know. A distant far cry from that cool, sublime indifference exhibited by Luke Skywalker with regards to his own spectral form. But for Ben, now, he was a marked man. The shot that would end his life could come out of nowhere, with only milliseconds to stop it. He had every right to be afraid.

"Well, I'm glad it was the will of the Force that things happened the way they did," she said to Poe as she pulled her eyes away and returned them to the path ahead. "There are children on that ship..."

"I know. Maz told me."

And then they reached their destination. They entered what looked like an old practice yard - an open courtyard with a thick nest of vegetation in the center of the stone remains that ringed it. There were walls on all sides with armed men and gun turrets stationed atop them like a scavenging flock of Aurean vultures. Some of those walls had crude arches and small windows... and not a single one was unoccupied. On the far side of the courtyard, the heavy bows of a large tree cast reaching, hanging shadows in the firelight of a small campfire. Fallen logs linked together to form a circle around the fire. A small group of men who had been seated there rose to greet their newcomers.

The man who approached them last, as they were flanked on all sides by his own privately purchased militia, was most certainly the familiar and much awaited Harlan Nylk. His partner, Parduk, joined him at his shoulder, but otherwise kept quiet and let his associate do the talking.

"Good evening," he addressed them, as he lifted his chin and clasped his hands beneath his soft, pudgy little pot belly. "It's good of you to join us."

"Good of me?!" Rey huffed with incredulity, unable to halt her temper. "You didn't give us much of a choice!"

"I understand that," he replied. "But we did go through a lot of trouble to bring you, and I understand it could have gone much worse. You're, uh... your friends here bragged a little of your prowess in combat."

While it was good to know that she was held in such high esteem, she would have to file that away for later. The ancient Jedi texts taught her that there were many types of mental warfare, and they weren't always to be waged by the dark side of the Force. The Jedi texts also taught her that the best defense was calm, reason... and most of all, focus. She steadied herself with a good, deep breath, she funneled her thoughts away from the radiant heat of her bond with Ben Solo, and she withdrew herself into her fortified core.

"Just tell me what you want," she demanded, leaving no margin of patience for anything less than a direct, immediate explanation.

"Come, sit," he beckoned them toward the fire. "It's a bit cold and dry up in these mountains. Have a seat. Let's get warm and talk. Bring your friends."

"All of them?" she asked, doggedly.

Nylk paused in mid-turn, eager to lead her yet suddenly insecure in his ability to steer the conversation in the direction he wanted it to go. Both hands held limply at his sides, he acknowledged the bantha in the room.

"You believe you have some vested interest in keeping Kylo Ren alive?"

"I believe _you_ have a vested interest in keeping Kylo Ren alive, unless you would like a demonstration of my prowess in combat."

"Hmm," he gave his head a condescending little nod as he folded his hands behind his back. "There is no need to get ugly. This is simply business. But if it suits you and means we can move on, then I will give you my assurance that no harm will come to him here. Now then, shall we?"

He held out a hand and bowed in a polite gesture that lacked any authenticity. Before her feet would budge, Rey glanced all around at the armed troops that had them encircled on all sides. While none of them moved a single muscle, they also didn't exactly appear to believe Nylk's assurances any more than she did. Money was the moderator of the current topic for discussion, and until she watched this stodgy, pasty noodle of a man start throwing credit chits around, there was no way she was going to let Ben outside of arm's reach. She stood her ground until Omar lead him forward. The doctor squeezed her arm on the way, and the endearment lent her a strength she didn't know she'd needed until then. Once they were situated, she took a seat of her own.

Nylk stooped at the waist to fold his body down in front of her. Reflections of the fire glimmered in his eyes and turned his white hair a weird, unnatural shade of yellow. He looked demonic. It was fitting. And probably on purpose.

"I do apologize for the pretense," he began. "I promise you, though, that there is great need. We could not leave you in a situation that would allow for your refusal."

"So, what am I being forced not to refuse, then?" she retorted.

"'Forced' is a word I hate to use, and yet..." he clapped his hands together, "here we are. You mentioned yesterday over the holo that you believe General Armitage Hux has come into the possession of an artifact - an old and dangerous artifact. Something no one understands. Yes?"

"Go on." Rey had no stomach for the repetition.

"You would be correct. He made a wide announcement over First Order channels only a matter of hours ago. What is being kept wrapped in secrecy, however, is the thing's origin. We have reason to believe this artifact is a Sith artifact."

How could anyone know that yet? How could anyone know anything about that thing? No record of it existed - no mention of it anywhere. If Ben Solo himself hadn't shown up to give a first-hand account of its capability (or what might even be only a fraction of its capability), then Rey wasn't even certain she'd believe anyone had seen it at all... or that it even existed in the first place. How could Nylk be so sure of this?

"Do you have proof?" she tested him. "What makes you say that?"

"I will not reveal my sources." Convenient answer. Suspicious answer. Rey glanced at Omar who narrowed his eyes at her in shared skepticism. "It's nothing personal... we've only just met. But do you really want to take the chance that I'm not correct?" So this was how this argument was going to go... Rey repressed a sigh.

"This thing," Nylk continued, "is an extinction-level event waiting to happen. It is capable of wanton destruction the likes of which few could scarcely imagine." But Rey was under a different impression - the opposite even. Didn't the Engine have more to do with the act of... creation? Did she misremember something? "From what we know, the thing is wholly forged from the dark side of the Force. And we also have reason to believe that you are... the last Jedi. Yes?"

Now it made sense.

"That's what I'm told."

"You see," Nylk said, "the last time this galaxy needed a Jedi - the last Jedi - was when Supreme Leader Snoke decided to crawl out from beneath his rock in the Unknown Regions and reignite a dead holy war. And that Jedi, Luke Skywalker... decided to turn his back on everything and disappear.

"I think we can all agree that if the stakes were high then... they are much higher now."

"Are they?" Rey argued. "I asked for proof. You refused to give it. What do we really know about -"

"We cannot take that chance. You must fight this. We are willing to equip you with whatever you need - we will give you whatever you want, we have that in our power. But you absolutely cannot -"

"She doesn't buy it, Nylk," Maz Kanata thankfully stepped in to throw around her not-insubstantial weight, comically hefty for a person of such diminutive size. "And frankly, neither do I. Not from a business man whose profit margins last standard cycle were so heavily padded by arming and outfitting the very same threat that you want to try to denigrate."

"I'll have you know, both sides benefited greatly from -"

"Do you know what I think? I think this girl is dangerously close to stealing a glimpse behind your curtain, and you don't want her to see the truth. But she can sense your motives, Harlan Nylk. She _is_ a Jedi, and she knows you better than you know yourself. You cannot hide anything from her. Your house of cards is finally coming down. So why don't you just tell her why we're all really here... before I do."

"Woman, I meant what I said the first time. Know your place, or you'll -"

Nylk's empty threat was swallowed by the sound of a shuttle cresting the cloud bank overhead. Soft, thick swirls of grey fog billowed through the high arch that granted entry to the sedgy expanse of courtyard. Nylk turned and promptly got to his feet - clearly this visitor was unexpected. Illuminated by waxing moonlight and the deck lighting of the shuttle's exit hatch, two silhouettes appeared to split the mists as they made their approach toward the fire.

They were both obviously carrying firearms.

The first two were followed by two more, and then another two, and then another. As they paraded closer, they became easier to define. Six of the eight were armed mercenaries, and they were nothing like the surrounding clan of Mandalorians. They were a bizarre-looking, greenish, reptilian species - tall, bulky, and intimidating. But the other two were different.

One was a lanky, sallow young man in an expensive yet ill-fitting suit holding a portable holoprojector. Hovering above the projector was the staticky blue image of a massive, casually lounging Hutt.

The other was a Twi'lek woman. The gown she wore was full and flowing, but the figure that moved beneath it was rail thin and shapeless. Her skin was a waxy, pale yellow, her nose was sharp and hawkish, and her eyes were small, narrow, and dark. Her lekku were pulled into a tight, severe-looking arrangement that sympathetically made Rey's head hurt. And the woman commanded an unspoken authority that was quite unquestionable.

For a long, frozen pause, no one said anything. Then one of the mercenaries pointed a clawed talon and spoke to his mistress in a language that sounded like a garbled mess of guttural clicks and growls. The Twi'lek woman followed his line of sight until her shiny black eyes landed on Maz.

"Sweet merciful stars," the woman gasped as she brought her hand to her bosom. "Maz, my dear, you... you're here! Are you... alright? We were so worried!" The affection in her voice felt totally false, yet not without function. "Nylk, you overzealous idiot," she flicked her fingers through the air, "what have you done?"

"I, I only..." he stammered. "Madam Xindi, if you'll recall, the council decided -"

"Have you no idea who this is?! You simple fool! Maz..." the woman woman brushed Rey aside as if she were nothing more than sand on a doorstep. She eagerly grabbed both of Maz's hands in her own. "Please accept my sincerest apologies. Had I known... had I known you'd be caught up in this... I know your position. I'm aware of how this compromises you. Have you been hurt?"

"Nothing more than my pride, Madam Xindi," Maz responded coolly yet pleasantly.

"Look at these..." the woman dabbed dainty fingers at the net that held her lekku as she gazed up at the mob of Mandalorians crawling through the ruins like giant, armored bugs, "these... barbarians. I knew something was just... just not right. Some of my men were waylaid out of the Senex-Juvex sector while trying to make a chemical run." She steepled her hands together in front of her with great fervor. "We both know how they rely on you for safe haven. When they reached the castle and they were told you hadn't been seen in days, they alerted me at once. It was most unlike you."

"Most unlike me, indeed." Maz almost sounded bemused. Rey's head was spinning. She could only try to keep up. But the source of the conflict was growing more and more nebulous by the minute.

"I immediately assembled the best trackers money could buy," Xindi scoffed with pride. She held her arms wide to indicate her entourage.

"Naturally."

"Don't let her fool you," the young man in the suit finally broke his silence, his sullen, downcast monotone barely carrying an audible volume over the ribald and resonant Huttese coming from the holoprojector. "Those Trandoshans were bought by Hutt credits."

"And I am grateful."

"Oh, Maz..." Xindi massaged her temples as she wandered away from the fire, inspecting the ruins in a manner that was likely supposed to look like general interest but carried an undertone that was much more calculating, "I hope this, this... this terrible misunderstanding hasn't changed our relationship. I do so enjoy our little tea time chats. Had I known..." She turned and fussed with the fabric of her gown. "Had I known the girl was _your_ resource, I simply would have called you."

Resource...? What? Rey had reached her limit at name-calling.

"For stars' sake - what the flaming heavens is going on?! What do you want from me?! What resource?! Maz - what is she talking about?"

Calmly, Maz held a hand to her to silence her. The look in her eyes was matronly and heartening, and she knew that such a friend of General Leia and Han Solo would never betray the Resistance, but... something Ben Solo said earlier on the deck of the Twilight Zephyr trembled at high frequency along the string of their shared memory.

 _Trust no one. And listen to your instincts._

"I will handle this," Maz told her firmly, but then added so quietly that Rey practically had to read her lips, "trust in the will of the Force."

It should have been comforting. Instead it was alarming. What was happening?

"We've all known, all along, what kind of dangerous game we play," Xindi cooed with silky smooth tones as she snapped a pair of long fingers in the air. One of her Trandoshans attended her, retrieving a small box from a pouch on his belt. "Oya gar," Xindi called to one of the bounty hunters beside Parduk, neutrally observing the scene from the glow of the fire. "Su'cuy. Ni verbori gar. Jurkadi kaysh, vor entye." The greenish alien crossed to hand him the box. He had no sooner opened it to find it full of credit chits before he shrugged, nodded his ascent, and summoned another pair from near the wall.

"W-what?! What is the meaning of this?!" Harlan Nylk cried out in panic as his own men gripped him under his arms and carted him away. "We had an agreement - I paid you! Unhand me this instant!"

"You did well, given the circumstances, Harlan," the Hutt Representative called after him while his Twi'lek cohort examined her manicure, "really you did, but we will be handling things from here."

Xindi raised her hand and circled it briskly through the air, signaling two more of her reptilian bodyguards. "The rest of these beasts are... quite meddlesome," she told them, obviously referring to the remaining small army of Mandalorians still decorating the ruins. The last echoes of Nylk's struggles began to die somewhere off in the distant dark. "Remain here, see that our guests are kept comfortable and, most importantly, unharmed. It is, after all," she bowed grandly before Maz, "the least we could do. And if you would be so kind as to indulge me, my dear Maz... perhaps we could speak more in the privacy of my shuttle?"

"Of course," Maz relented, her voice even and cautious.

The gauzy pleats of Xindi's skirt fanned the flames as she passed them by. She joined her suited partner and they once more crossed the courtyard to return to the craft from whence they came.

"Times are hard. The swifter the end to this deal, the better."

Deal? Like... like the bounty? That sort of deal?

"Maz..." Poe interjected on his friend's behalf as she turned to follow the woman, even going so far as to reach a hand out to her.

"Now now," she told him, "I'll be alright, there's nothing to fear." She wasn't convincing anyone. "I am her queen."

"Leaders fall," Ben Solo said.

And like every time he spoke, everything stopped. His words carried gravity. He was the kind who only used them when there was something important to be said. He didn't lift his tired, purpled eyes until Maz approached him. Sweetly, like a grandmother, she brought both hands up to cup his cheeks. He was so tall she had to stand on her toes.

"Oh, Ben Solo," she smiled up to his face in equal parts joy and longing. She savored the long caress of her thumbs over his cheekbones, for the first time in so many years. For the first time since the man was just a boy. Since before his corruption... since before his innocence was stolen. Back when he still had life in him. And light. A slim line of tears in her eyes shone silvery in the golden firelight. "It is so good to see you again. At last."

He squeezed his own eyes shut and ripped his chin away from her gentle fingertips. But she did not stop smiling at him. How could she? She knew his heart. His stun cuffs told one story, but the bruises on his face and the blood on his shirt told another, even if his pride preferred not to draw attention to it.

"I assure you, Lord Ren, if I may still call you that," Xindi stated sedately from the open hatch of the shuttle, "nothing is falling tonight outside of the decimal points on my bank ledger. Come, come," she signaled to Maz. "Oh and... bring the girl."

* * *

Rey was certainly eager to get answers... but Kylo Ren worried that her impulsive nature might lead her into peril... and he couldn't help her. Not here. But he also noticed she'd begun to shed a lot of her old, idiosyncratic gullibility, like a loose skin. And he didn't need to read her mind to understand what the look on her face was supposed to mean as she handed Finn her satchel. Everything was in there. Everything.

"You're still wearing your beacon?" her friend asked her under his breath. She gave him a slight nod before she turned to follow Maz onto the Twi'lek woman's shuttle.

Ren resisted the sudden urge to grab her, throw her over his shoulder, and storm the shuttle the hard way, taking them both off to... anywhere, just... just anywhere. Maybe another galaxy. A galaxy where people fought for all of the right reasons. Maybe a galaxy with no money at all, a galaxy with no greed... or maybe even a galaxy beyond the reach of the Force. Or even a galaxy where the Force was strong with everyone so no one would ever think he was -

Rough hands grabbed him the instant the shuttle hatched hissed shut and pressurized its hermetic seals. He expected no less. Really, he could have set a timepiece by that kind of predictability.

"No - you were given orders to stay here!" Omar yelled at them ineffectually. "He was promised safety - where are you taking him?!" Ren could hear the slide of his blaster barrel against the leather of its holster, then suddenly the Trandoshans were drawing their weapons... and then the Mandalorians were drawing theirs. Ren didn't get to see the stalemate, however, as he was being dragged faster than his own feet could keep up.

His back was slammed up against the trunk of the courtyard tree so hard he bit his tongue. One of the other reptilian men pulled a length of rope out of a pack he wore on his back. Before he used it for its intended purpose, Ren heard the soft thud of another body smack against the opposite side of the tree.

"Oof! Harder, ori'jagyc! You know I like it rough..."

The Deshra woman.

And then the ropes were on them. Tight enough he stopped hating his stun cuffs for a little while. Tight enough he struggled to breath, and the bark of the tree was gnawing into the points of his vertebrae.

"Cozy accomodations we have for the night," Sonora huffed as she squirmed against her bonds.

Ren chose to ignore her, and instead retreated into the sanctum of his mind. That place where his vengeance and his pain coiled together like braided steel. All sound slipped away - he left it behind, floating on the surface as he sank deep into the silent, ebon depths of his own meditative dreamscape. Rather than spend his time languishing in defeat as a much more immobile captive, he chose instead to find his anger, prod it til it hurt, and hone it into something he could use when the time came for those ropes to come off... and he was no longer under someone else's umbrella of protection.

He let those words sting him again...

 _You murdered your father, Ben Solo... for money._

Hux would never see the damage he did with something so simple as words. He would never be afforded the luxury of witnessing the cracks that let the cold trickle in and put the fire out. But to a machine as efficient as Kylo Ren, everything had its use. So he let it rattle around his head like broken glass as it tore at his apathy and shredded his illusions.

 _You foolish, egotistical clown..._

 _Destiny. It is your weakness._

 _There is no such thing as Destiny._

"What do you have then?"

He was too focused to let anything startle him... but the voice was not his own. He...

"What is left for you?"

He knew that voice. The voice of many voices. The ones he heard in his dreams earlier, on the Twilight Zephyr. The ghosts of the Temple.

"Choice," he answered without hesitation. Even a prisoner had choices. He could fight, or he could submit. It was almost refreshing to view his current state of affairs in such simplistic terms. It almost made him feel like he had control over something.

"Control..." it whispered back to him. "Freedom... power... control... a choice..."

He knew the words. All of them incorrect answers for an unanswerable question.

"They light your path..." And then, one by one, down in the dizzying, delusory void beneath him shone miniature lights, nothing more than the gleam of tiny pearls as each word swam between his ears once more. "Freedom... power... control... choice..." They arranged themselves in a line, signaling him to follow. "There is an answer... they are leading you to it... Why are you here?"

What did...? Why would...? But... wasn't it obvious? He was brought here against his will! He didn't have a -

Oh wait.

"I made a choice. To... submit."

"Why?"

"I..." Was it fear? Fear for his life? Was it fear for the lives of others? Was it something even more altruistic, like fear for the fate of the galaxy? Or was it that he had nowhere else to go?

"What did you want?"

Was it that he was so, so, so exhausted by isolation... so excruciatingly tired of being alone... that being a prisoner was the superior option to fading away, cold and forgotten, one insignificant speck amongst an unfeeling vacuum of pitiless stars?

"Why are you here? What are you really seeking?"

Was it a reason to live? He did want to live, didn't he? And for what? What could he do now? And who was he, anyway? Suspended between two worlds but a part of neither... He needed to know what he was. He couldn't seek anything at all if he couldn't reconcile the duality that hid in his depths like a sunken ship. He needed the path - he needed a direction. He needed a reason... he needed something that belonged to him... He needed...

"A purpose," he said at last.

"Yesssss..." the phantom chorus sang to him, swelling like a tide all around him as a wave of warmth washed over and embraced him completely. The surrounding seas began to glow - dusky red, then orange, then a burst of yellow. "You are no Jedi... but you are not Sith. You killed your father... for a lie. Fight them, Skywalker. Fight them."

Ren's eyes watered and stung as he blinked them open to find a torch near his face. As his vision cleared, he was able to see the thing was actually a few paces away, the butt of it jabbed into the ground to cast its flickering light across the immediate vicinity. There was a man standing before him... but just a man. Not a Trandoshan or a Mandalorian.

It was just Poe Dameron.

"Hi there," the General began. He kept his voice low, but Ren didn't get the impression it had anything to do with the covert nature of the impending conversation. He seemed... rushed. Tense. "We probably don't have much time," he continued, "so I'm gonna make this quick. Something is obviously going on... and we need answers. And I'm told you might have some of them."

During his brief interlude spent tuned out of reality, Ren had slipped uncomfortably down into his bonds. The rough fibers of the rope were scratching at his skin through the meager protection of his tunic, and he was being pinched under his arms. Proper flow of blood to his upper extremities was being restricted. He stiffened his lax muscles and wriggled vigorously to bring himself back to his full height, scraping his heels against the tree trunk in the process and sending a shower of bark fragments to litter the ground around his feet. Dameron must have viewed the movement as sudden and threatening - he staggered back a step and held up his hands.

"Hey, easy now..." He kept one hand up in front of him, but placed the other on his hip, conspicuously next to the butt of his blaster. "You, uh... heh. You're a lot bigger in person than you are on a pair of macrobinoculars."

"I get that a lot."

"I mean, how tall are you, six three? Six four? It's funny because your mom was so -"

"What do you want."

That wasn't a question. _That_ was a threat. They both knew he wasn't a prisoner because he had to be. He chose to submit. If he could earn his lightsaber the Jedi way, then he could dismantle a pair of stun cuffs. And even tight ropes had their limits. It was unsafe to ever assume that Kylo Ren looked harmless.

And Poe Dameron was smart enough, at the very least, to understand this.

"Fine. Fair enough," he began. "You know, I thought I'd be happier to see you like this, all trussed up like a Life Day roast." The firelight drew dark shadows under his eyes. Those eyes lacked any spark of life whatsoever. The yoke of leadership clearly pressed heavily onto his shoulders, and the shame of defeat was exacting its onerous penance. Despite his wishes, Ren knew very well what it meant to pay this costly tithe to failure. He didn't want to acknowledge any sort of affinity with a man who became a surrogate son for an undeserving mother who abandoned her blood, but he couldn't deny it, either.

"Thought it would be more satisfying, having the tables turned between you and me like this. Me. Interrogating you. But all I can see are the faces of people who died over Crait," Dameron continued.

"I didn't give that order."

"Oh please. I've been a soldier all of my life - you don't have to tell me the difference between giving an order and taking an order."

It was like Leia's ghost hung between them, throwing her words out of his mouth.

Ren could only stare at him passively, unable to find an answer that would sufficiently absolve him of any wrongdoing. There was a time when he sailed through life on a raft made from faith, arrogance, and fervent justification. There was a time when he believed in his cause - a time when everything seemed right, and all of the pieces locked together correctly. But now the pieces were scattered to the wind. The raft was gone, having been made of nothing more than lies as thin as tissue paper, and the truth was doing its best to drown him. Dameron was more than happy to speed that along.

But not before he got what he wanted.

"You know, I get it," the man laughed, nervous with his hostile, unblinking silence. "You're huge, you're scary, and you're powerful. You're used to having the upper hand, but now you're on your own and you're outnumbered. It's hard to be at such a disadvantage."

"That's a matter of perspective."

"Then let's pretend that right now, mine's the only one that matters. Because, look at it this way." He shifted his weight to lean on the other foot. "Someone placed a bounty on your head. Could be any number of someones. And you're surrounded by a whole clan of huntsmen who are more than ready to cash in that paycheck. The people you're trusting to keep you alive? Are the same people who look at you and see nothing but the faces of dead friends and loved ones, thanks to your absolutely, bang-up fantastic ability to 'follow orders.'" That's where Dameron was wrong - the only person Kylo Ren trusted to keep him alive was himself. "The very least anyone here wants from you is for you to spend the rest of your life locked up to pay for the things that you've done. Most of us are afraid of what will happen to us if we don't let the Mandalorians have you.

"But Rey flat out begged me to let you have one chance. She told me you risked your life to leave the First Order. She told me you have something you want to tell us, so I'm going to let you have that chance.

"What is this?"

Dameron slipped his hands into the interior pocket of his jacket to retrieve an object and hold it up to the light. It was slim and square - a datapad. The very same datapad he'd spent weeks decrypting. It was the copy of Hux's data.

"Don't do it, aruetii," called Sonora Deshra's raspy voice from the other side of the tree. "Listen to him, so pushy. You're a smart boy."

"Lady, nobody cares for anything you've got to s-"

"Listen to me, ad'ika," she continued, "this man has only one concern, and that is the safety of his people. And that doesn't include you. He is making an exit strategy, he's not leaving anyone behind, and he's willing to sell you to make that happen."

"Why don't you just shut your damned m-"

"You know it's true - it's what you would do." She wasn't wrong. "Before he can do that, he needs what you know. After that, you're dead weight."

"Says the woman who just tried to kill everybody," Dameron sneered.

"Not everybody..."

"Oh yeah, that's right. Just the guy you're trying to persuade." He slung a hand back and forth. "Because you certainly don't have your own agenda or anything. That would be real convenient. So, as I was saying. What is this?"

"Let me go and I'll tell you," Ren offered. If he was going to play, he was going to get something out of it.

"On what planet has that ever worked?"

"You're the one who wants to bargain. So bargain."

"Bargain?" he barked a mirthless laugh at the audacity. "You think that's what this is? Do you remember what you did to me the last time we met?"

"Yup, sure do."

"You were going to take whatever you wanted from me. Sound about right?"

"Near as I can tell." Kylo Ren had nothing to hide from this impotent buffoon of a man.

"You think _she_ won't?"

That sent a lance of ice down the back of Ren's throat. The ropes were so tight he could barely swallow against it. He tore his eyes away from darkness cloaking the far reaches of the courtyard, and speared Poe Dameron with them. He knew he wasn't referring to Sonora Deshra. Or Madam Xindi, or Maz, or anyone else they had in mutual acquaintance.

He knew the girl he was referring to.

He knew the instant he'd heard the words that he'd slipped up and let a glimmer of fear ripple across his face. It didn't just frighten him because he knew he couldn't stop her. It frightened him because he knew he wouldn't. Not Rey. She was the closest thing he had to being known by somebody. She was the closest facsimile to a voice that chased this new and endless silence out of his head like nothing more than cobwebs. She was the closest thing to filling that Snoke-shaped hole in his mind. But she was also something different, something so pure, something he'd forgotten. She never tried to hurt him. She never tried to use him. She never expected anything of him. She was just... there.

But what Poe Dameron was suggesting...

"You have information that could save lives," the General said with metered words. He knew that the trap was set. Expertly. "Do you really think, if she has to make the choice between you and saving the galaxy... that she's going to choose you? Do you really think, when there's billions of innocent people on the line - whole systems full of innocent children - that she'll balk at the idea of torturing one murderous and morally bankrupt degenerate like yourself? If it gets the information out of you?"

He knew he deserved no less. He knew he'd forgive her. But it still hurt. The kind of hurt he never got used to.

"Look, I'm the good guy here - I'm the one who is powerless against someone like you. I'm the one you want to deal with, okay?" Once again he held up his hands in supplication. He gave the offending datapad a good jiggle. "So I'm not messing around. Last time. What is this?"

"It's a pattern," Ren confessed.

"Yeah, yeah. I figured that. _What_ pattern?"

"The ledger, the blueprints - they're the key to Hux's next moves. Did you even look at it?" A flare of impatience flushed over him, heating the blood in his veins. "Stars, no wonder your Resistance crumbled, it's so simple a child could see it. Half the crew on that ship up there are children, why don't you ask one of them?"

Poe began to laugh. He kicked and dug his heel in the dirt a few times and rubbed his eyes and laughed. He shook his head, he looked to the stars for strength... and he laughed.

"They said you were mouthy," he told the sky. "You sure don't disappoint, do you? Fine. Have it your way. I did what she asked me to, I gave you a chance. But if you're not gonna help, then you're absolutely right. We have no further use for you." He stuffed the datapad back into his pocket, pulled his colllar up around his neck, and turned to walk away. "You know, I wonder... do you think they'll kill you quickly? Right here? Or will they freeze you in carbonite and fight you to the death in one of their arenas? Hell of a sport - I bet a lot of folks would -"

"They're flawed..." Ren almost choked on the words as they left his mouth. It felt like disgrace. It felt like dishonor. It felt like giving up and selling out. His hatred for his mother's Resistance had been his only sustenance for so, so long... his only fuel, his only fire... his capitulation was as vile on his tongue as ashes. "The blueprints. All of them. There's a pattern."

"I... I don't understand. The blueprints are flawed?"

"Yes, but... bigger. The whole design. On purpose."

"What are you...? I... I don't understand what you're telling me."

"He's right," spoke a slowly approaching voice. Out of the dusky, smoky dark appeared a small figure with bouncy black curls in her hair. Her name was Rose... or at least that's what Ren thought it was. "That's the pattern. I saw it too. Every single design the First Order bought. Every single piece of machinery from superweapons to speeders. They all have a fatal flaw. Here."

She reached up and took the datapad from him.

"And it's not just them. Even our own ships have their little, practically unnoticeable... problems. I mean, look here. The Starkiller. Look at it. How does it make sense that disabling a thermal oscillator would implode an entire planet? That can't happen on accident, Poe. But look here." Her fingers flew across the surface of the touch screen. "The Death Star. Look at this. This little inconsistency. In an exhaust port of all things. It's so tiny, and yet it's like someone left the back door open. Doesn't it feel like that? And what about this?" She made a few more gestures. "A dreadnought. My sister..."

She stopped for a moment. She brought her free hand to her throat, but let it softly cling there while she took a few seconds to just... breathe.

"My sister," she told them, "was the bombadier who made it... over the Fulminatrix, when we were making for the lanes on the Raddus. She knew ships like these, inside and out. She knew this design like the back of her hand. And she talked about the 'sweet spot.' Poe - who in the world would make a design like this?"

"It's flawed..." Poe answered her.

"They're all flawed. And if I had the blueprints for all of our equipment here to show you, you'd probably find a bunch of weird, unexplainable little flaws in them as well."

"I... I just can't..." he stuttered for a moment, wiping a hand across his mouth before raking it through his hair. "Why would anyone... I mean... is - is what you're saying, that they're all -"

"They're all flawed for a reason," Ren said to them both. It was the truth. The new truth. It was the reason why they were fighting a war after thirty years of peace. It was the reason why his father was a necessary sacrifice... his murder was a misdirection. It kept the public eye off of the "curtain" that people like Harlan Nylk didn't want getting pulled away. People like Hoersh-Kessel. People like Killian Arms. Or people like Adascorp or Genetech or Czerka or even the Hutt Cartell or the Exchange Syndicate. It kept the door closed.

It was almost like a conspiracy.

"Both fleets, yours and mine," he explained, "are designed to be devastating enough to be marketable. They're designed to be expensive enough to be profitable.

"And they're designed to be completely disposable.

"This isn't about the Sith, and this isn't about the Jedi. It hasn't been for a very long time... I know that now." He let his head droop. He watched the light from the torch outline the stem of a tall, scrubby weed where it claimed its patch of ground like an insult, living an envious, carefree life with no complication outside the need for an occasional rainstorm. "I can't say the same for your Resistance... you had the benefit of secret benefactors, like Lando Calrissian. But the First Order is deep in debt."

"It's true," Rose spoke up. "You ought to see this ledger. There's actually two of them in here - one of them is clearly forged, I'm assuming by Hux himself. He didn't want anyone to know he was spending resources looking for the Infinite Engine."

"What is the Engine?" Poe asked. "It keeps coming up, but we don't know anything about it."

"No one does," Ren told him freely. It was the truth. "No one but Hux. And that's why we're here. As long as the First Order keeps paying their interest, and this war keeps making money, then the status quo is maintained. But the Engine changes things. Hux changed the rules of the game in the middle of it."

"I don't understand - why would -"

"The point is that they don't want _anyone_ to win this war. Ever. They don't gain anything from it if it doesn't keep going on. But now Hux can win." He lifted his face and looked Poe Dameron directly in the eye. "I don't know how the Engine works, but I've seen what it's capable of. Hux can defeat everyone with it. He can destroy this whole damned galaxy. And that's not something anybody wants... least of all these people."

"So what do they want with Rey, then?"

"I have to assume they want her to destroy the Engine," Ren guessed. She was the perfect tool for the task. She was powerful, but she was also trustworthy and carried the added bonus of being relatively unknown. She was anonymous, and therefore more valuable alive than dead... unlike him. And she was also closely aligned with a crumbling faction that was in dire need of their... investment. She was more than just a weapon. She was an opportunity.

"See, that's where you're wrong, I think," Rose offered her opinion. "I mean, think about it. Look at these blueprints - look at the resources you have to have in order to create some of these things. I mean, where are you gonna find a rogue planet to make another Starkiller, right? Look at the costs involved. You can see them down to the decimal point in all of these ledgers. Look at the time, and money, and energy that goes into creating a war..."

Creating. Creation. He could see where she was going with this... and found that he agreed with her.

"They don't want to destroy the Infinite Engine. They want her to retrieve it."

"So it comes down to that, does it," Poe sighed, shaking his head in dismay. "That's what this war is all about now. This is what we're fighting for. Bank ledgers. Profit margins. And one stupid artifact."

"It is anything but stupid."

"We can't let them have it. Something like this... it's probably better off destroyed."

"There's no way they're going to let Rey do something like that," Rose muttered, despairing. "And look how much influence they have. Their fingers touch everything - you can see it all on this datapad. Look how far it goes. How can we fight something like this?"

"One thing at a time. For now, we need to focus on just getting out of -"

"You need to forge alliances," Sonora Deshra's voice cut in again. "And they're here because they want to purchase your friend. They want to buy the Resistance and paint her face all over it's flags. And trust me on this, alor, you need to let them. The truth will only bring philanthopists and bleeding hearts to your side, and we all know how rare those are. For the rest, you'll need credits.

"No one knows better than a bounty hunter how far credits will go to get people to fight for your cause. Take their money. This is no time to have a conscience about it."

"I'll, uh... I'll keep that under advisement," Poe lied as he backed away, his figure growing dimmer as he passed beyond the reaches of the torch light. "Come on," he said to Rose. "We should be there for her, when they let her out. In case there's trouble."

"What are we gonna do about..." Rose tossed a thumb over her shoulder as she turned to walk with her General.

"I don't know yet. He's a walking liability."

"We both know this liability still has something you need, Poe Dameron," Ren called after him, stopping him in his tracks.

"Don't say a personality," Dameron shot back as he whipped around and placed a hand back on his hip.

"A lightsaber."

"Uh... wait," he laughed at the pitch as if it didn't make any sense. "Don't, uh... I mean, correct me if I'm wrong, but don't _we_ have your lightsaber already?"

"Stars," Ren snarled a vicious laugh of contempt, "no wonder they're more interested in her than they are in you. You don't understand anything - you don't even know where you are. You don't have a clue what I'm telling you."

"It's also possible I just don't care."

"This is a Jedi temple. This is an ancient, sacred place where people came to study the Force, and learn the ways of the Jedi."

"I don't think anyone here needs any ancient Jedi history lessons from someone who made it his mission to seek out and destroy every last living -"

Out of nowhere, a cold, hard blast of wind stole the words from his mouth as it blew through the night like a graveyard banshee. It ripped the little weed from its roots, it tore the dead leaves from the tree, and robbed the torch of its flame. The sudden darkness felt strange, like a living thing that was stalking its prey, licking its lips and sniffing at their heels, waiting for them to make a move or a sound. All they had for their defense against it was the light of the distant campfire, and the wan, milky glow of Tython's three moons.

"You're right," Ren told the night. "I did do it. I am a Jedi killer. I murdered every single last one of them. I cut them down no matter where they ran from me. Some begged for their lives. Others died with dignity. But they all died just the same."

"You're a monst-"

"I know what I've done. I know my crimes. I know what I am. I am aware of the lies I let define me for so long. I have had my epiphany, same as you. But what I'm telling you is reality.

"I am the last living person who knows how a lightsaber is forged. And Rey of Jakku will never be a Jedi...

"... until she builds her own lightsaber."


	18. Ch 18: The Forge

**Chapter Eighteen - The Forge**

"Not sure which is worse, glass or tree bark," Sonora Deshra whined as she wriggled uselessly under the ropes that pinned her shredded back to the tree in the Temple courtyard. Despite her light sarcasm, her voice carried a note of weakening misery. Something she couldn't hide. Something Kylo Ren, himself, understood. Like him, she still had wounds, she'd lost blood, the thin mountain air was growing colder by the minute overnight... and the campfire was so far away. And more than just ancient spirits wandered these forgotten ruins - Ren was certain there were plenty of hungry living things as well.

And two bloody bodies tied to a tree probably looked like an easy meal.

While Ren didn't exactly relish the idea of being gnawed on... alive... he felt he could probably forgive the drama of nature. He was hungry too. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten, wasn't even sure what his last meal had been. He was too dizzy and his eyelids were too heavy to concentrate on meaningless memories like that. And while the blood stains on his tunic were no longer damp, that only meant that they'd become enmeshed in newly formed scabs as they'd dried. And he missed his cloak... even through the thick crust of blood, the tunic offered little thermal protection. The icy air lashed at him like razor blades, and he couldn't get his teeth to stop clacking like little cymbals inside his head.

He started entertaining the idea that they might actually let him perish in the night tied to this stars forsaken tree...

Maybe it was time to consider cheating, and use the Force to at least get himself out of these ropes. He still wasn't sure where he'd go after he was fr... untied, but at least he wouldn't be completely helpless against the elements. Perhaps he'd just yield himself over to a life spent as a mountain hermit on Tython. Or maybe he'd just slice open his sutures and allow himself to bleed to death in his sleep, so that the forest creatures could devour his flesh while he was thankfully no longer awake and aware. Maybe he'd stow away on a freighter bound for the Outer Rim and become a pirate, praying no one would ever recognize him. Or maybe he'd just let the Mandalorians have him and just get it over with. All of these sounded like better options.

Better than dying slowly, cold and alone, tied to a tree.

He pulled against the unforgiving hempen braids, stretching his neck to its fullest to follow them around the circumference of the tree trunk. If he could see the knot, he could probably work it loose. It would be difficult in the dark, and would probably take more time and focus than he really had, but... it was worth the shot.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," a voice floated on the mists before a set of hurried, uneven footsteps. "Hold tight, almost there."

It was the doctor, Omar. His breathy, limping cadence was accompanied by the soft, orange glow of a torch.

"Kriffing Trandoshans," the man grumbled. "Like bounty hunters weren't bad enough, for stars' sake. Everybody's on someone's payroll nowadays." With a grunt that was more ill-tempered than anything, he sank the butt end of the torch into the dank, mossy earth and knelt before his field box. "They weren't gonna let me within ten paces of this tree until the boss lady finally pulled the plug on 'em. Here, lemme have a look at y- oh, good grief..." He grimaced at the state of him. "It's a wonder you've healed as much as you have, given all of the shavit we've had to deal with lately. And now ropes, because why not. We've gotta get these off. Hold on."

Throaty, gravely laughter carried over the sounds of Omar rifling through the contents of his box, presumably in search of a cutting instrument of some kind.

"Interesting choice you've got here, doc," Sonora Deshra chuckled out loud.

"Hmmm..." he ignored her as he kept searching. After a small pause, she went on when he didn't rise to her verbal game.

"Do you leave him tied up to keep me tied up... or do you cut the ropes and let me go too...?"

"I don't really care, lady," he replied absentmindedly as he removed a small internal shelf to search a larger compartment inside. "No offense. I'll give you a bacta shot to fight off infection, but after that? It's none of my business where you decide to go."

"That's too nice of you, doc. I know that tight-skinned Twi'lek chakaaryc might have showed up and covered the bounty on the girl... but there's still a price on this one's head. That doesn't concern you?"

"Look, I can tie you back up in a minute if that's what you're really asking for."

"You're not worried I'll come back with my clan?"

"You're dishonored," he mouthed around a long, skinny metal instrument he held between his teeth. "You're not coming back with anyone."

"I could try to take him with me, then... regain my honor."

"Lady," he growled, ripping the metal rod from his mouth in annoyance, "even if you were fifteen years younger and in peak physical form - even if Kylo Ren didn't have any arms - I'd still bet on him. Six of you couldn't take him in Kalikori Town, you damned sure ain't gonna be able to -"

He stopped and turned suddenly at the sound of someone charging through the dark behind him.

"He had help -" Sonora began to protest before Omar shushed her.

The crunching of twigs and stones grew nearer and the shadows beyond the torch light began to manifest a shape - a young woman, stomping with either purpose or rage. Or both.

It was Rey.

Her bouncing hair and pounding feet brought her to an abrupt stop, toe to toe with Kylo Ren. She'd marched straight up to his face and seized him with her eyes. He straightened his shoulders and kept his back to the tree, lifting his chin just a fraction - his usual lofty air of pride in anticipation of a blow to it. They held each other's gaze there for a long, weighted moment and no one spoke - not even any sage whispers from spying spirits. The only noise to be heard outside of the warm crackle of the torch flame was her breath. Her furious, heaving breath. Her shoulders were keeping a steady rhythm. Her lips were parted, leaving a line of teeth exposed. But her eyes...

Her eyes were fire. A fire he knew once. The one he used to have. The righteous fury of legitimate, divine cause. That burning conviction, that belief in justice, each time he struck down an enemy of the Order before they got the chance to incite ruin across the cosmos. That moment he awoke to his uncle's lightsaber at his throat and he knew his decision was made. That promise of power and belonging at last from a master who would only...

No. Not _that_ fire. Not _that_ one.

 _This_ was cold. A cold so sharp and so blistering it only burned like fire. Like the time a glitch in the kitchen droid resulted in an attempt on his tender young life, when he was little. And when that voice in his head told him his parents weren't there to save him because they weren't sure they could care for a child like him in the first place. Or the day he was old enough to look back and question, with more sophisticated rationale, why he was raised by a kitchen droid in the first place.

Or the time things started moving on their own in the house... sometimes ending up broken under strange, supernatural circumstances. The first time his mother recoiled from him in fear. The first time his father left and didn't come home for weeks. The first time he wondered why his family was always missing. The first time he knew it was his fault.

And then there was the time he was sent away. _That_ time... when the realization crushed him like a ton of bricks that he could never go home again. That he had no home - he never had, not really. And that voice was there, always there, to slip under his skin like a hand under satin... that voice was there to remind him that he had a Destiny. And that these attachments that stung him so badly were only trials. If he could leave them behind - if he could kill them before they could do the same to him - then he could become what he was truly meant to be.

So he tried to kill his love. He tried to murder his longing. He tried to destroy his past. He bartered his whole self for lies, believing for so long that it was worth no more than that. And he still failed abysmally at all of it.

And now... there was _this_ time. This time, when the mask of deceit and perversion was finally pulled away and at last he was allowed to see himself naked and real through the untainted lens of truth, and he could stand, face to face like this, with the sacrifices he made for nothing... literally nothing at all...

 _You murdered your father, Ben Solo... for money._

This time, when he started searching through open space for all of the pieces of himself he'd jettisoned long ago... to harden and freeze... to sharpen into weapons he could use... to become so cold they burned like fire.

Burned like this. Burned like her.

Something had happened. That same epiphany had struck her too, and robbed her of her warmth and joy and life. This galaxy meant to use her, the same way it had used him. It reached deep inside to take hold of her, and it squeezed so hard it killed her heart. Same as him. He could see it in her, same as if he was staring into a mirror made of ice.

The recognition of this new, shared sorrow tugged at the string of their bond. Enough it pulled her lips into a sweet, sad smile. For a moment she sucked her bottom lip into her mouth, releasing it to shine rosy in the glow of the torch. Wistful, golden tears welled in her eyes as she lifted a hand to his face. He stiffened out of reflex - out of a deep, sinister conditioning that was more accustomed to being struck. Instead, the cool tips of her slender fingers traced the line of the scar that split his face. Feather soft. Something thrummed to life, deep within his dead and buried core... only once. But it did. And it was strong enough to steal his breath.

She retreated a step, letting her hand fall back to her side. She shook her head and her lips quivered as she labored to swallow something bitter, putrid, and unfair. The truth. Her smile drained from her face and her other hand unclipped Kylo Ren's lightsaber from her belt. The dim, flickering light of the torch was banished to the night beneath the blazing scarlet flare of the lightsaber. Her nose wrinkled and her lips curled into a snarl.

"Burn it," she told him with venom. "Burn it all."

With scorned ferocity she slashed the saber through the ropes that bound him - cold, alone, and hungry - to the trunk of the courtyard tree. Once more he stood unfettered on his own two feet as they slithered and pooled to the ground. He only took a second to glance at the stun cuffs that still adorned his wrists, but by the time he looked up she was gone... having moved off into the darkness like a torrential hurricane to accost the silent, sleeping stones in the rest of the dormant Temple.

"Sit down, you're not burning anything," Omar chastised him, giving the hem of his tunic a quick tug. "Not at least until I get the chance to examine you and change some of these bacta patches. Here. Plant yer butt."

His body complied, but only half-heartedly. His mind had followed his eyes... off into the dark where he still searched for her outline in the heavy, hanging haze of grey fog. Something that begged for life was still dangling from the ghost of her fleeting touch. Something that had waited for so long to be finally understood was yearning to follow her, to seek words, to seek insight... to seek connection.

"Relax, buddy," Omar said, sensing his tension. "Ease up. Same thing I just told Finn - she just got a whole lot of illusions shattered by some pretty powerful people. Give her a few minutes to process, okay? She'll be alright. Now, hold still a sec." He produced a scanning instrument that he began to wave over him, starting with the splint on his arm.

"This is looking better, we can probably take this off soon."

He hemmed and hawed and clicked his tongue as he continued his thorough inspection, but before he replaced the tool to his field box, he tapped one cool metal edge of it against the round of Ren's right cheekbone.

"So what is this, then?" he asked him, making reference to the scarred channel that ran the length of his face. "This isn't one of mine. You showed up with it, it's older. How'd you get that?"

He didn't have to vocalize his answer. He only had to frown at the place where the mists still swirled in her wake before he dropped his eyes to the ground. He'd never felt shame for being bested by a girl. He felt shame for letting a pompous, narcissistic tyrant belittle him for it.

And then there was also the envy. The envy over how she could be as powerful as she was, and yet be spared the life he lived. To be unknown. No one. Free to be loved for who she was with no place in anyone's foolish concept of Destiny.

Until now.

"She give that to you?" Omar guessed correctly with a wry smile. He laughed once and whistled through his teeth. "You know, to be honest, I'm not surprised. You should've seen her get angry on Prakith." He started fussing with the pernicious corner of a wrapper on a clean bacta patch. "I know I talk a lot about the things I've seen in my life. A lot of guts, and a lot of power. But she was terrifying. Have you ever seen someone pull whole ships out of the sky? Hell, who am I asking, you probably made them your playthings when you were ten. But she made me take a second look at her, that's for sure. She comes across as a babe in the woods sometimes, but then she does something like that. If there's anyone I could believe would give you a scar like that... it's her. Okay, brace yourself, it's gonna get cold for a minute."

The fire atop the little torch was too small and too far away to be of any assistance. The night air groped his newly exposed belly in a way that could only be described as rude. He clenched his abdominal muscles as the doctor began to peel away his soiled dressings and mop up the layer of rusty dried blood.

"So what about this one, then?" Omar turned his unwelcome inquiry toward the larger, mottled scorch mark above his left hip. "She do this one, too?"

And for a long, silent, uncomfortable moment, all Ren could do was look down and stare at the thing. He remembered how black it had looked, for several days, same as the gash across his cheek, neck, and chest. As black as the chasm at the heart of the Starkiller... the beast that swallowed his father whole forever. He still lie awake at night, dreaming of the horrific surprise in the man's dying eyes as they disappeared into that void... wide and dead. White with betrayal.

He deserved the shot that he took. He knew it. He'd made his peace with it. He'd take a hundred more - a thousand. Looking back on it, the only reason he was glad he survived it was because it assuaged Chewbacca the guilt and grief he knew would follow had it killed him. But he still could feel it searing his hide, a painful reminder of all of his atrocious shortcomings. He could stop a blaster bolt in midair - he could even keep his own organ systems from failing him - but he couldn't stop needing someone who didn't need him. He couldn't ignore this flagrant hypocrisy. Or the way his heart ached for contact... for touch... for family. For rest. Or the way he was never really okay with being alone on his throne, solitary atop his pedestal, having been placed there by the hand of Fate.

This exhaustion born from giving and giving and never being enough.

"You don't have to answer that if you don-"

"Chewie did it," his words were curt, his breath a puff of fog in the cool, dry air.

"Ah." Omar leaned across him to place a fresh patch over his healing wounds. New scars. These felt different, somehow. They were still deserved, but they carried a different meaning. They told a new and different story across the pantheon of constellations marking his body. He looked up when he felt the man's eyes on his, lingering a bit long for casual curiosity. Ren returned the man's intense and narrow gaze, and he waited out the question he knew would come while he watched him search for comprehension... and the right words.

"Your master never let you grieve your father, did he?" he finally asked.

Grief. Stars... grief was a luxury only afforded to the ordinary. There was so much that mundane people on the outside didn't understand.

"I'm not allowed attachments," he droned by way of meager explanation, though he knew it would be insufficient.

"Attachments?!" Omar scoffed before he laughed and shook his head. But there was no humor in that laugh. "Oh, kid..."

"This is my..." Ren began, but thought better of it. He didn't have to explain this to anyone, and they had enough battles to fight. He preferred to keep his own to himself. "They are a weakness."

"A weakness?"

"Yes."

"Boy," Omar sighed as he sat back on his heels and took a good, long look at him. "He really got all up in you, didn't he?"

Ren didn't respond. Not even physically - he kept his eyes on the courtyard wall instead. These were his scars - they weren't for anyone else. They weren't for sharing, they weren't for amusement, they weren't for judgment, and they weren't up for discussion. They were just... his. And his only. They were private - they were nobody else's business. Why couldn't he have this?

"I'm gonna ask you a rhetorical question. I already know the answer, I just wanna see if you do."

"That's the meaning of rhetorical," he replied, tersely.

"Do you really believe this is a weakness? Because it's something you honestly feel inside? Or is it because some creature from the Unknown Regions came along and coerced a child into believing something that he wanted him to? To manipulate him into serving his purposes?"

Ren felt his stomach churn and he gulped back a wave of nausea. He hated that word, "manipulate." It carried an implication that was... that was... that was nothing now. It was over now. He wasn't powerless anymore and he wasn't trapped. He made a choice to submit. He made a choice! And what could the doctor possibly know? To view someone else's whole life so, so... so two-dimensionally? How could he ever understand?

"What did he do, son? Did he make you promises?"

Promises. For a man like Omar Entero, promises were something vapid and superficial. Like money, or status. He would never know what it was like to bear the mantle of Legacy. Ren kept his chin high, but let his eyes fall to his lap. His dignity fought hard to keep humiliation and anger from flushing his cheeks, but he failed at that like he did everything else.

"Did he threaten you?"

He didn't have to submit! He didn't have to let them take him - he didn't have to let anyone take him! He could have made any choice he wanted to - it was over now! The ropes were off - he could run if he could get his feet beneath him fast enough... if he had somewhere else to go. But there was nowhere... there was nothing. There was no Destiny. There was no purpose, there was no Fate, there was no place for him. His only Legacy was death. There was only uselessness... and the cold, burning stars twinkling their harsh appraisal from above. And the doctor, who held him cornered with this probing interrogation.

A crawling menace squeezed itself free from his clenched fists to snake its way up the meat of his arms.

"Did he, uh... hurt... you?"

It was a reflex so strong - it happened so fast - he didn't even see it happen. In a flash quicker than the eye could follow, his cuffed hands were wrapped around Omar's throat. But the man showed him no fear. He didn't even reach for him - didn't claw at him for air, didn't bulge his eyes in panic, didn't beg or plead for anything. His bright blue eyes were soft and sad as he placed his life, quite literally, in Kylo Ren's hands.

"I know you probably feel pretty stupid, don't you?" he pushed around the thumbs compressing his airway. Ren could only mutely fume and hope the man had something better to say than that. "Like you allowed this to happen. That it's your fault somehow. So let me ask you this. If Snoke made Ali kill his mother. And then he told him his grief for her was a weakness? Would you think Ali was stupid?"

He couldn't pull his hands away. He couldn't conjure an answer - couldn't pluck the words out of the messy, jumbled up maelstrom ripping through his head. He couldn't stop the tears that formed against his will.

"Did you kill your master to take his throne?" Omar continued his line of questioning, undaunted. "Or did you do it to free yourself from your abuser?"

And they sat that way for a long time, letting the tides sweep in with every breath. Wave after wave, one for hatred, one for guilt, one for contrition and self-loathing, and another last one for fear. Always fear. Fear of trust, fear of harm. Fear of being left defenseless. The childhood fear of a monster in the dark. So of course, one by one, his defenses washed away.

"He..." Ren choked, his voice embarrassingly pinched by the knot in his throat. "He was hurting her."

There was a wild sort of freedom he found in hearing himself say it at last. It had nothing to do with a throne. And really, it had nothing to do with the crimes he, himself, had suffered for so long. He'd merely found a friend, and couldn't bear to see her in pain.

And in spite of her rejection of him, he could not ultimately succeed in devoting himself to a doctrine that he just... didn't believe. The bright white conflict within his heart had built a wall too high for him to climb. He couldn't end her life on Churruma. He couldn't shoot down her ship in orbit. He'd given up his own freedom for so long, his own life... and he couldn't live with taking either of them from her. It was empathy, or compassion... or something more. Something he wasn't ready to acknowledge. Something his master found condemnable. Inexcusable. He did have an attachment to her. And he wanted to keep it.

His grandfather's spirit must be rolling in his grave.

Defeated, he uncurled his fingers and returned his hands once more to his lap.

"Ahh... okay," Omar grinned as he rubbed at his neck. "It makes sense now. I won't ask you how you feel about her. I can guess enough to probably form my own unfair opinion." Ren did his best to avoid his eyes as he spoke, but looked up involuntarily when the doctor laid a warm hand on his shoulder - one that had already forgiven and forgotten the previous threat of strangulation. "But I don't think you're stupid. I don't think it's your fault that someone terrible did something terrible to you. I don't think it's your fault that the people you needed weren't there for you until it was too late. And it is not your fault something evil took everything from you, and left you nothing but this fear of weakness.

"You left, okay?" He gave his shoulder a shove. "You walked away. And I know you feel like there's nowhere left for you, but you are _here_ now, okay? You're _here_. And it's okay to miss your dad. Everyone expects you to. Everyone wants you to."

"I don't know who I am," Ren blurted suddenly. He didn't know why, he didn't know where it came from, he just wanted to say it. To someone. Anyone. The pressure just... burst it out of him. He just wanted to let it out. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do... Or be."

Pieces of bark scooted and rolled off into the grass and shadows as Omar flopped down beside him, leaning his back against the tree.

"Well, that's just the human condition, son," he told him as he began to wind up the ropes around his arm. "It's one of those things you keep hearing as you grow up but it never makes sense until something happens and suddenly you understand it. Life is a journey, not a destination. Nobody is just one thing, and people constantly reinvent themselves. I mean, look at me! I used to be fat!" He laughed as he bumped him with his elbow.

"I used to have a family home, on Coruscant," he went on. "It overlooked a courtyard, like this one. It had trees, even - real ones. I practiced at a clinic. I mostly worked with stroke or accident victims. I repaired brain damage. And I was home in time for dinner every night. I changed diapers, for stars' sake. And now look at me.

"You have to allow yourself to change. This isn't something to be scared of. You'll change all the time, until the day you die. It's not enough to ask yourself, 'What do I want?' You have to ask yourself, 'What do I want right now?'

"And years from now," he said as he slid his butt away from an uncomfortable tree root, "you'll look back, and you have to be okay with not being the person you used to be. You have to give yourself the freedom to make mistakes. And you have to take responsibility for fixing them. That's all life is, kid. Making choices, screwing up, and learning things.

"But it's way too short to, uh..." His voice trailed off for a moment. "Hmm." He brought one hand up to scrub it through his thick, ruddy hair before he pulled it away to look at it for a moment and chew at a hangnail on his thumb. He sighed, and he placed his hand back in his lap. "Kid... people you love are going to leave you, whether you want them to or not. Even if you beg them to stay. Even if you curse the Maker himself. This universe isn't fair. So just be really, brutally honest with yourself about it, okay? If you really want to live a life without attachments, then that is for _you_ to decide, and no one else. Not your parents, not your demons... not even a woman. But if you find you still need them..."

He turned to face him. Ren met his eye, but only out of the corner of his own.

"Then cultivate them like a kriffing garden. There's no one stopping you," he jabbed him in the shoulder with a fingertip, "but you. And I know that you've done... things. And I know why, better than you think I do. So make it right.

"And let people in."

Omar Entero rose to his feet and brushed off his backside before bending to pick up his medical field box... and something else in a dark heap beside it. Ren used both cuffed hands to catch it out of the air when the man tossed it to him. It was his cloak.

"Oh, and here. You dropped that in the tavern. It's gonna get cold tonight, put it on. I'd tell you to come sit by the fire, but we both know where your brain is at right now, so I'll just hand you these."

He flipped up the lid on his box one more time, and retrieved a small pouch sitting inside.

"Ration bars," he explained. "Most of 'em are pretty bland, but the bilaberry ones are nice and tart. Just be sure to share them with her, will ya? She's probably pretty hungry too."

Ren caught the pouch as well. He heard Omar mumble something over his shoulder about not wandering off too far and then another something about a good night's rest before he disappeared into the night, leaving the dutiful little torch behind. He understood what he was really worried about, though - there were still Mandalorians prowling the area. And they still had one score to settle.

He stood and shivered as he slung the cloak around his shoulders. He knotted his hands tightly into several folds of the thick, felted material then brought his covered fists to his face to warm his nose. He turned a circle where he stood, finding Sonora Deshra to be unsurprisingly long gone. His feet stopped circling when they once more pointed in the direction Rey had gone, deep into the misty, somber, moonlit temple.

His nerves gripped him for a moment, freezing him in place. What if she considered him just as much a liability as her General did? What if he frightened her and she felt compelled to defend herself? Or what if he would just simply be... bothering her? He knew, rationally, that this was the same woman who showed up - alone - on the Supremacy in nothing more than an escape pod, to chase down some future they both once believed they shared together. But a lot had happened since then.

It didn't matter now. It was too late. His feet had already started walking, and had carried him past the rubble pile beneath a collapsed archway. The tall grass whispered against the leather of his boots with every step, and little glowing bugs littered the sky to escape his slow, quiet advance. The world there outside the blinding orange light of fires and torches was ethereal, sleeping blue-black illuminated by pale, ghostly yellow. Ashla hung proud and prominent in the sky while Bogan hid shyly behind her. This time of year, Bendu rose and set earlier than the two forbidden lovers, so they had the whole sky to themselves.

And the whole ruin.

There had been a time, once, when she'd turned to him, feeling she could talk to no one else. That no one else would understand what she'd had to say, what she'd been experiencing. There once had been a time when she'd sought him for a connection as well. And even though he knew he had his own hubris and arrogance to blame for screwing that all up... if there was ever a time to know if she still felt the same way... if it was still possible... then this was it.

So he summoned the courage to keep walking.

* * *

The silence around the campfire was tense and morose. They were all still reeling from shockwaves that shook them the moment Rey tore open the seals on the shuttle exit hatch and thundered off into the darkness beyond the firelight.

Initially Finn had thought there was trouble. And he hadn't been the only one - he and Poe were instantly on their feet. But when Finn's hand found the butt of his blaster at his side he'd immediately found himself pressed on all sides by a crowd of well-paid Trandoshans. Hutt credits went a long way - they weren't the kind to be reasoned with. The payroll got stretched even further when Maz and the strangely austere Xindi woman calmly departed the craft.

The Twi'lek was all business. Maz, however, looked like she was attending a funeral. Finn had tried to approach her, but she'd waved him off, insisting on hushed diplomatic decorum until all formal contractual dealings were finalized. Now she merely stood by the fire, warming her hands as her glasses reflected the flames, and shadows settled into the deep, dour lines of her frown.

Up on the walls, the hovering throng of Mandalorians began to dispassionately dismantle their armaments and pack down their gear. The stalemate was apparently down to its final dregs, and soon everyone would be going home. Just as... they'd been promised. Well... all except Harlan Nylk, of course. Finn had difficulty finding any sympathy for the man.

He turned a slow, bewildered circle as he watched the scene begin to dissipate before him. He was still just so confused. What the hell just happened?

Even Poe, who only moments ago had returned from his attempt to seek answers from a cryptic and cantankerous Kylo Ren, seemed unusually quiet and restrained... not at all the head-strong and spirited leader he knew him to be. Instead he chose to plant himself on a log by the fire, his chin perched on his folded hands as he obviously waited for all the extra pairs of ears to finally set their hyperdrives to the 'lanes. There was clearly a conversation he was ready to have... and he preferred it to remain clandestine.

Maz echoed his silent sentiment exactly.

Xindi was attended by her gargantuan reptilian guard captain and one of his peers as she held a covert conference with the heads of the Mandalorian clans assembled by Nylk for the purposes of... whatever it was he'd tried to accomplish here. While she carried out her business, and made no attempt to disguise the large denominations on the credit chits exchanging hands between them, the Hutt Representative sauntered noiselessly up to the fire to join them. This time he was alone. The holoprojector, and the image of his unctuous and over-inflated Hutt master, were unexpectedly nowhere to be found.

The jaundiced face beneath his stringy hair made no move - not even the twitch of an eyebrow. Yet he stopped next to Finn. Right... next to Finn. Queerly close for someone who, for all intents and purposes, only appeared to be enjoying a cheery, crackling fire under the stars of an alpine mountain sky. Perhaps the young man had merely been rendered socially awkward under the ugly circumstances of his life spent in servitude. Perhaps he came from a culture that had a different idea of personal space. Perhaps he was seeking camaraderie as well as fresh air. Finn had his guard up... but stood his ground.

"There," Xindi announced as she clapped her hands brightly and threw back the long sleeves of her gown with great flourish. The golden bangles on her wrists clattered against each other with the effort. Her skirts swished in colorful ripples as she made her way toward the fire. And the Hutt Representative retreated a few steps, at last. The movement did not go unnoticed by Finn. "All done. Per our agreement, the bounty on your resource has been paid and released. They will trouble the girl no longer."

"And the rest...?" Maz pressed her skeptically.

"Of course, my dear! In two days time, per our arrangement. Let your crew heal, let them get well fed and rested. They will need it. We will reconvene at the Castle. We will deliver what was promised... but only if you will do the same."

"We made a deal," Maz reminded her acrimoniously. "I will uphold my end of the bargain."

"Well then it seems we've no more to discuss. I will leave you to it. And please be well, dear Maz. The very thought of you... coming to any harm. It leaves me troubled, my friend. And by all means, should you find yourself in a situation that necessitates your gallivanting across countless sectors of open space like this, do not hesitate to contact us. You've done so much for us, after all... we are at your disposal.

"Should I find myself looking for you again like this, well... there's no telling what I might do."

Leaving her thinly veiled threat behind to dry up in the twisting smoke from the campfire, Xindi finally took her leave, and the Hutt Representative turned to follow along with the hulking green cadre of Trandoshans. By the time their shuttle's red running lights crossed the threshold of the darkened skyline, the last of the loitering bounty hunters had walked off into the night to vanish into the thick maze of trees.

At last, they were alone.

"What about Connix!" Poe immediately screamed.

"She will be returned to us on Takodana, and not before," Maz answered, listless and monotone. "They got what they wanted. I will be their collateral going forward. A hostage in my own home."

"I don't understand," Finn cried. "What is going on? And what about Rey?" The doctor, Omar, had begged him to let his friend go and have a moment's peace, but this temple was not the kind of place where anyone should be left alone, no matter who they were. And frankly, it was long past time to call up Chewbacca to have him come pick them up and take them back to the vast anonimity of the stars.

"Hux happened," Maz explained. "Snoke had no idea what he was doing when he set Artimage Hux and Ben Solo at each others' throats. I think, perhaps, he'd hoped they would keep each other in check - if they were in constant competition with each other, then they would be too busy to rise against him. And the threat of saving face with the other was enough pressure to keep them at peak performance. Snoke very clearly did not expect to be murdered before he saw his plan to fruition... at the very least, not at the hand of his own apprentice. Force users...," she removed her spectacles and rubbed her eyes, "... and our woeful hubris."

"I'm sorry..." Finn said. "What does this have to do with, I mean... what does Hux have to do with anything? Other than fighting the First Order?"

On the other side of the fire, Poe sank his face deep into the curve of one hand and laughed. It was a tired, grim kind of laugh, and it sent chills down Finn's spine.

"That's just it," he said as his fingers tugged at his lips for a moment. "Who are we really fighting anymore? And should we? Where is the line drawn, anymore, between us and them?"

"You've been talking to Ben Solo," Maz said to him.

"About what?" Finn beseeched. "Please... anyone..."

"The problem is this," Maz began as she turned to face him, her eyes smaller and darker than Finn would have guessed, having no longer been magnified beneath the curvature of a thick pair of glass lenses. They still hung from her fingertips, forgotten. "The Republic did a very good job of creating an atmosphere of equal representation, so long ago, with its Senate. I'm a lot older than you... I remember.

"It was a very egalitarian time, back then, and it was good for the common man. But it was too expansive. It began to reach beyond the galactic core - it began to press its boundaries. But their system of government was fair and their economy was booming - joining the Republic was an attractive prospect. And so it grew... and it grew faster than its ability to govern and regulate its new territories. It grew faster than their ordered culture could spread to the more distal regions. And the way people conducted business out there was... quite a bit different than they did back home."

She meandered a few steps before taking a seat next to Rose.

"They were too late in creating a commission that enforced its regulations on trade," she continued as she retrieved a small cloth from a pocket in her vest that she used to clean her glasses. "When they finally did, unsurprisingly there was a revolt which resulted in a war with the Separatists. The Separatists were exactly what they sounded like - they were secessionists. They were dissatisfied with the high tariffs being placed on trade, and believed that their regulations were unfair - that they placed a higher value on core goods than they did those from the outer sectors. They claimed to be a voice for inequality.

"But statistics didn't work in their favor. Higher tariffs had been imposed to offset the risks involved with doing business in those sectors of space. The incidence of piracy and other violent or fraudulent crimes was much higher there because of their history with lax regulation. It was sort of a self-fulfilling prophecy.

"But those regions were also rich in untapped mineral and chemical resources. Raw materials, that sort of thing. And a few bloody skirmishes lit a fire under the butt of the pan-galactic economy... changing everything forever."

She placed her glasses back on her face and replaced the cleaning cloth to her pocket, and she clasped her hands between her knees as she stared at the fire and spoke.

"Tensions became a war. And families in the farther regions who had been struggling under the thumb of the Galactic Republic began to thrive. Mining colonies... gas farms... even lumber and kelp forests. Then it became arms dealers... craftsmen's guilds... pharmaceuticals... and yes, black market pirates. They had begun to organize.

"They became a Federation.

"In the beginning, they were spearheaded by a council of Neimoidians. They were all slaughtered during an ill-conceived and unsuccessful plot to create a checkmate between them and their benefactor, the Sith Empire. Which I'll get to in a minute. But since then, they have evolved into what you see today - a mixed bag of faces, some public and some private. Some legitimate, some illicit. But once they had begun to assert their authority, people began to get very rich.

"All because of war.

"Naturally, the Senate was very pursuant for peace. As is only just - people were dying. On both sides of the conflict, everywhere. The Senate was mostly comprised of elected officials, with some exceptions, depending on the planet. They could only watch so many of their constituents bury their family members before they had to be called into action. It was in their best interests to pacify their masses. They held summit after summit. They did everything they could.

"But what they were really, truly fighting was never going to let go. They weren't fighting for regulation anymore. They weren't fighting for common law. They weren't fighting for equality or safety or the concept of 'one nation.'

"They were fighting against cash flow.

"And when the time came that this galaxy was no longer mass producing ships and guns that only ever saw a maximum lifespan of a few weeks... well then, that's when the cash flow would essentially ... dry up."

"Disposable," Poe muttered, his mouth pressed against his knuckles. "That's what Ren said. Designed to be devastating, expensive... and disposable."

"He is correct," Maz agreed. "So this war had to have a reason to continue. It needed a misdirection. This has always been a war for economic power, do not fool yourselves. That is the truth of it. But they needed it to be something bigger... something that would never die.

"Which is where Sheev Palpatine left his mark on history. You see, the Senate and the Jedi Council once had a very interesting relationship. The Council served almost in a judiciary capacity for the Senate, and to some... their twinned liaison bordered on unethical. It seemed like a biased blend of Religion and State."

"And Palpatine was... Sith..." Finn interjected.

"It wasn't common knowledge at the time, no, but you are correct. And he wasn't the only one. And that was all that was required. After that, it was a very simple matter. Palpatine pledged the old Sith Empire to the Trade Federation, and then, of course... he committed treasonous acts of genocide against the Jedi.

"And thus... the war became a holy war. The schism between the Sith and the Jedi - the vengeance the Sith had longed to exact for their culling so many years before at the hands of the Jedi... that's all it took. The war donned a terrifying mask, and trivial details like high tariffs and embargos were conveniently forgotten. With the Jedi Council nothing more than blood and ashes, the Republic began to falter, indimidated by the Empire's show of force. This war had become an act of justice and revenge. It became about retribution, and a means to escape succumbing to Imperial rule. It became nothing more than very bloody, very expensive propaganda.

"So that the cash flow could remain uninterrupted. Indefinitely."

"But it did end, didn't it?" Finn asked. "Thirty years ago. The Empire was defeated - banished to the Unknown Regions. I mean," he plucked at his shirt to indicate himself, "they were still obviously stealing babies and being a general pain in the ass, sure, but they weren't blowing stuff up... not for thirty years! I mean... yeah, I did spend a lot of my life in training as a soldier before I was stationed on the Star...

"Ohhhkay, yeah... yeah, I see..."

"This war never ended, Finn," Maz shook her head at him. "It merely took a hiatus to regroup. The New Republic was hasty - they needed the win to unite around and stage reform. So they celebrated prematurely.

"And for the Trade Federation, the Rebel Alliance was a wild card. The Federation is made up only of businessmen - slicers and stock brokers and CEOs and cartel bosses. They specialize in the movement of goods and money. They know very little of field strategy or flight wing formations or combat tactics. They were fighting a war they could buy, and what they paid for was a grand and very idealized concept of what they thought a war should be. But they did not anticipate guerilla-style warfare. The Rebel Alliance dealt them strong, unforeseen losses. And with the deaths of the Sith, Darth Sidious and Darth Vader, the Empire lost its mask and the war lost its momentum. No one was frighened of the Empire anymore."

"So then... Snoke."

"So then a whole new kind of war. This time there were no Separatists arguing over trade negotiations. The strings on the puppets were quite elegantly tucked away from view this time. And this time they took a page from Palpatine's book - they would buy both sides. This time they didn't have to care about about the Republic - they would just pay off their politicians and fragment its newest incarnation from the inside. They didn't have to worry about unforeseen losses - this time they would benefit from them instead.

"And yes... there was Snoke. Snoke made his move when the Empire settled in his back yard, nothing more than smoking tatters... but they still had a whole lot of ships. He saw an opportunity and he seized it. To him, they were a means to an end. And the Federation felt the same way about him. They each had their own agenda, but they also had mutual interests. So they came to an accord.

"And it all comes down to the Infinite Engine."

"Hux's journal..." Rose spoke up suddenly, putting down a datapad she had been holding. "His journal includes two different ledgers. One is clearly fudged, to cover up expenses used to search for the Engine. But only a small section of those entries took place after Snoke died. They were covering up this search while Snoke was still alive..."

"Of course they were. The Engine would change everything. And whoever held it would hold ultimate power - would _be_ the ultimate power in the galaxy. Yet to not only find it, but to also keep it and use it - in order to be in that place of power - Snoke needed a fleet. And the Federation needed a war. So as long as they were ignorant..."

"That makes perfect sense..."

"So that's what he did, then," Finn surmised. "And he stole babies from their families to build his army..."

"Yes."

"That's..." Finn breathed, opting just to sit down, cross-legged in the grass. "That's disgusting."

"It is," Maz agreed. "And you're not the only one he stole."

Finn knew she wasn't just referring to the other Stormtroopers. Or Moffs, or officers, or scientists or mathematicians or statisticians, or any other number of indoctrinated orphans the First Order kept in its employ.

He knew she was talking about Kylo Ren.

"Snoke was gifted in the ways of the Force," she continued, "and the Force brought him foresight. I know this well from my own experiences - I, too, have been gifted on occasion the great honor of premonition through the Force... with great providence. Even Leia could sense it, long ago... but she didn't know, then, just what it was she was sensing.

"Snoke had begun enacting his plans, even before the Empire had suffered its final blow on Jakku. He knew of the Engine. And he knew the name Skywalker, he knew it as well as he knew the Force - it was the Force itself he'd plucked it from. And he knew Leia Organa Solo was to give birth to the next heir of the Skywalker bloodline. So he corrupted Ben Solo from infancy... the boy never stood a chance. And he put him on only one, very cruel, very narrow-minded path."

"The path to the Dark Side," Rose muttered as she watched the flames dance in the moonlight.

"Oh, it was much worse than that," Maz replied. "The path to Luke Skywalker."

"Oh..." Finn said out loud. "Oh, I get it now. It makes sense now. He wanted him to destroy Luke Skywalker..." he looked up at her and nodded, so sure of his answer, "so that he would reignite a holy war."

"Precisely.

"You are absolutely correct. But as we've seen here tonight," Maz grunted as she stood and stretched, turning one sore hip after another, "this war is anything but holy. It's still about the same thing - the same thing it's been about since time immemorial. It's not about exploited and militarized orphans, and it's not about confused and villainized young boys, and it's not about martyring the heroes of the past... it's not even about the Force at all.

"It's about money. Pure and simple."

"How do we ever stop something like that?" Finn mused with gloom. "For good?"

"Should we even?" Poe asked, enigmatically.

"What do you mean - of course we should!"

"We don't have a choice," Maz asserted. "We have pulled away the mask. Once they're done with us and we've suited their purposes, we're no better off than Harlan Nylk."

"Maz." Poe stood so fast he kicked up a sharp wind that disrupted the lively jig the flames were performing. "That's not all of it. We all know it. Be straight with me.

"What is the Infinite Engine? Kylo Ren couldn't tell me anything about it."

The little woman's shoulders drooped as she sighed. She clasped her hands behind her back, but folded her chin to her chest for a moment, letting the welcome heat of the fire bake her skin.

"Of course he couldn't. No one can. And all I can give you is hearsay... which sadly is better than anything you'll find on record. Because you won't find anything on record. The only reason I've heard anything at all is because I'm old enough to have heard it - little whispers told during after-dinner conversations. Or something like a bedtime story. One that would either entice young children into a misspent youth of adventure and eventual poverty... or scare the smart ones into adopting better manners. Either way, the tale always felt tall, so treat it with a grain of salt.

"But I've heard stories of a great forge, lost in space."

"A... a what now?"

"Yes. A forge. Pay attention."

"In... space."

"Yes. Like I said, it sounds like a fairytale. I know. But what I've heard is that the forge was constructed using a very special and ancient type of technology, and no one living knew how it worked... and until now, if it even existed in the first place. But it's said that it was capable of creating anything - anything imaginable - from next to nothing. It required very little fuel to... endlessly create."

"Infinitely create," Finn added.

"Yes. And while it's not known how old the forge was or by whom it was created, it is said that it was discovered by a Sith... one who had once been a Jedi, and who would become a Jedi once again. And that, when the forge was eventually destroyed, he stole a piece of it. That piece is the Infinite Engine. And it has every bit of the same capability as its parent object."

"To create anything from next to nothing," Poe repeated.

"To create, yes. But from what I could not even begin to speculate. And while every tale has a nugget of truth to it, this one seems impossible. I'm sure it requires some sort of fuel. But there's only one man in the entire galaxy who knows what that is."

"Hux."

"Yes. Hux. And the Federation cannot abide by their ignorance any longer. They are still responsible for their own holdings. Their assets are too liquid right now to account for something as volatile as the Engine."

"It's the Rebel Alliance all over again," Poe surmised. "Except this time it's on the other side. It's the entire First Order."

"Unless Hux and the Engine are removed from the equation," Maz responded. "Only then can the status quo be maintained."

"See," Poe said, finding his feet and waggling a finger in the air. "That's where I'm having the most trouble. I keep asking myself this same question here, over and over," he grumbled as he began to pace. "The same question. And it's a terrible one.

"I mean, really. Who wins here? Who do we fight?

"The reason Hux is their problem now is because, as long as he has the Engine, he doesn't need them anymore. He just made the entire First Order a massive financial loss. I mean, they've put years of effort into building that fleet - the Starkiller alone... imagine how upside-down they are in that. They're so deep in the red right now, they're... they're as red as Kylo Ren's lightsaber.

"At this point, the Resistance is their only hope at a revenue stream. And if Hux beats us... or if we even refuse to fight... then this war will truly end. There won't be anyone else to buy as long as Hux has the Engine. This war will finally end for good, and the Federation will finally be beaten...

"But at what cost? The galaxy would basically fall into the hands of the Empire. For good. But if we choose to keep fighting... then the Federation will do whatever it takes within their power to make sure this war continues for generations to come.

"That's what I don't know how to process. What do we do with that?"

"And what about Rey?" Finn asked one more time. "Is that it? Is that what they want with her? Are they forcing her to fight? For _them_? I mean, Kylo Ren left the First Order... they can't really push that whole 'holy war' angle anymore..."

"They can," Maz told him. "You heard Harlan Nylk. You heard how he spoke of the Engine. Hux has gone public with it - soon it will be common knowledge. So the Federation has made no haste in publicly denouncing it as a Sith artifact.

"An artifact so dark and so evil, it can only be vanquished by this galaxy's last true Jedi.

"They will sensationalize her. They will make statues of her. They will post her face across the holonet. They will even merchandise her. And ultimately they will use her to do their dirty work."

"Rey would never let them do that willingly..." Finn growled.

"Of course not. There was nothing willing about this. That is why she is so angry at me. I sold her to them like she was nothing more than a ripe melon at market."

"What does that mean?! You can't just - you don't -"

"But what she doesn't know," Maz interjected, "because no one in that stuffy little cockpit was going to just come right out and say it, is that if she was even given a sliver of an opportunity to refuse them, they would destroy her and you and your whole Resistance. They would just build a new Resistance from the ground up, and rally it behind one of Omar's children instead. Maybe that little girl, the one that was taken from a First Order creche... just when she'd finally gotten the chance to experience what it might be like to have an actual childhood.

"There is no end to their depravity. They have no moral compass. This isn't about doing the right thing anymore. This is about preventing the wrong thing from happening."

"Which is exactly my point!" Poe yelled as he stopped in his tracks, jutting his hands into the air before him. "What the kriff _is_ the wrong thing?!"

"Letting them have the Engine. Letting Hux have the Engine."

"So they do want Rey to retrieve it," Rose concluded.

"What else would they want. We are not without agency, however. Part of my agreement with them is that I am to be their point of contact. I will be the liaison between her and them. It means they will invade the Castle and claim ownership on everything I have... but I still have people there who are loyal to me, and I still have... ways. I can act as an intermediary layer, to buy you some time and allow us to make a plan."

"A plan to do what?" Poe lifted a hand to let it smack against his side.

"Poe Dameron - haven't you been listening?" Maz jabbed her fists into her hips. "Whoever holds the Infinite Engine holds the key to ultimate power in this galaxy."

Poe merely crossed his arms over his chest and scrunched his eyebrows, glaring at the fire as if it committed some sort of great offense.

"Look," Maz told him, "in two days time, Lieutenant Connix is going to arrive on Takodana at the helm of a massive, brand new, shining armada of ships and guns. You will have more seats than butts to fill them. And you will need them - Hux will not relinquish his prize so easily."

"They think they can just buy us..."

"And you need to let them. Your altruism is lost on them, and it will be to your detriment."

"That's what Sonora Deshra told me."

"And she's right," Maz agreed. "Because if we can beat Hux, then there will be that one pinnacle moment when neither the First Order _nor_ the Trade Federation will be in the possession of the Engine.

"Because it will be in the hands of Rey of Jakku.

"Honesly, Poe Dameron - can you think of anyone better?" It was Maz's turn to cross her arms over her chest and glare. "If you had it within your power to orchestrate such a move, could you say you wouldn't?"

Reluctantly... Finn found he couldn't disagree. They were talking about an artifact that had the capability of deciding the fate of an entire galaxy. Maybe even beyond. And a weapon like that was only as good as its master. Rey was probably the only person in existence who was a fit enough candidate to wield such a mammoth responsbility.

But did that make it right? Even if she never used it, could she really guarantee it would never again fall into the wrong hands? And what if it was Sith in origin? What if it was capable of corrupting her? Should it ever be held or used by anyone?

And how was it used? What were the more immediate consequences? Should the thing even exist at all? Could it even be destroyed? There were still too many unknowns.

"So," he rose to his feet as he began to voice his opinions, "what do we do once we -"

"Wait," Rose cut him short as she pointed at his midsection. "What is that...?"

Thinking maybe something was stuck to his behind after having sat on the ground for so long, he brushed his hands over the back of his pants. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see it - a tiny glint of metal, glittering in the firelight as it fell to the ground. He twisted at the waist to find it before he bent to pick it up - it was a credit chit. But something was on it, something strange... like a residue.

"What is it?" Rose asked again as she stood and joined him at his shoulder. He handed it to her to let her have a closer look. With the tip of one fingernail, she picked at it a moment before she made a small sound of surprise.

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "I... I think this is blood!"

"How do you think it -"

"It also looks like writing. Like, actual handwriting." She wrinkled her nose and squinted her eyes as she brought it closer to her face. "Yes! It is! Look here!" She nudged herself against Finn's shoulder to show him. "It's a series of numbers!"

"Is it coordinates?" Poe asked them.

"No, there's too many segments for that. If I had to guess," she drug one finger through her hair, "I'd say this looks like an HP address."

"For a holonet site."

"Yes! Here! Let me grab a datapad."

"I think the Hutt Representative might have dropped it..." Finn stated, his eyes growing wide as a thought crossed his mind. "... On purpose."

"How interesting," Maz said, bringing a knuckle to her lips.

"Indeed!" Rose said with a smile as she held up her datapad - the same one that had been gifted to Rey by Lando Calrissian. The same one that listed the names of trustworthy contacts that still believed in the Resistance. "Look at this!"

What Finn saw when he looked at it was... underwhelming, really. It appeared to be... just another list of names on an otherwise very pragmatic and artlessly bare-bones holonet site.

"I don't understand," he said as Poe sidled up next to her other shoulder. "Who are they?"

"Wait..." Poe breathed, chewing on a fingernail. "I think I know some of these names."

"Me too," Rose said. "Leia knew them."

"Leia knew them."

"Senators," Maz guessed. "Politicians. For the New Republic."

"Why would he give us this?" Finn asked.

"Well, in order to answer that, we have to determine whether or not the names on that list are dirty politicians... or clean."

"I can maybe cross reference them with the list of contacts that is already on here? The ones Lando gave us? It's not perfect, but it might give us an idea."

"Before you do," Maz urged her, "you should hail Chewbacca. The sooner we reach the Castle, the more time we'll have to suss things out before they arrive."

"That's just it," Rose told her, "that's what I've been doing this whole time. For at least the past twenty minutes. He's not answering."

"... What?"

Finn felt the tiny pricks of hairs rising on the back of his neck. He made eye contact with Poe, whose mouth was agape with mounting dread. It wasn't like the Wookiee to ignore comms. Ever. He was nothing if not stalwart in this task. No matter how hard he tried to rationalize it - maybe he was sleeping, or bathing, or on the toilet, or experiencing an equipment malfunction, or any other number of perfectly reasonable explanations for a very unusual case of radio silence - his mind still leapt to the worst case scenario.

They all turned at the sound of footsteps clodding over moss-covered stones. It was Omar, returning to the fire. They were all together now... except Rey. It took everything within his power to keep from flinging himself into those dark, dangerous ruins to search for her.

It was past time to get off of this planet. It was past time to get themselves back to the ship, but... how? The Twilight Zephyr wasn't a space-faring vehicle. He smoothed his sweating palms over the legs of his pants as he took a step back and turned one slow, frantic circle.

They were trapped. They were stranded.

And if something had happened to Chewbacca... then the children were all alone.

* * *

Crisp, twilight tranquility clung to the air like each drop of dew that dotted his toes. Kylo Ren was new to this kind of quiet. He'd never been this alone inside of his mind like this. And while it was true, _she_ was there... it wasn't the same. She wasn't omnipresent. She was unobtrusive. She respected boundaries. And she demanded the same respect for her boundaries. And while she occasionally liked to touch the place where their two hemispheres met, she wasn't the kind of person who would cross the line. At least not without sufficient cause... as Poe Dameron would no doubt love to attest.

But it was a new sensation, privacy. Sometimes it made him feel more fr... more at liberty than he'd ever felt in his life. Other times, it made him feel more alone. He was worried he'd become so fiercely protective of it that he'd imprison himself inside a new cage of his own making. He was also worried he'd overcompensate, and share too much of himself out of inexperience... say something he'd rather keep...

Private.

What a minefield.

And what if he was intruding on her privacy? What if she just wanted to be left alone? He could go back to the fire, couldn't he? Get warm and rub shoulders with all of _her_ people... the people who were scared enough of the Mandalorians they'd considered signing his death warrant just to purchase their departure...

He could just huddle next to the little torch by the tree for the night, wait until morning like a coward... or he could hike on his own back to the Zephyr and take off for... anywhere, really... Or really just perch on this rock right here and fill his empty belly with a couple ration bars, then do some better thinking on a full stomach. Pull himself together a bit.

Why did this have to be so hard?

And what if she couldn't handle his burden just now?

He stopped and pulled the cloak a little tighter around his arms, an act the stun cuffs made much more difficult than necessary. In doing so dropped the pouch of ration bars. His fingers were cold and cramped. As he stooped to bend and pick them up, he heard a soft coo of surprise up and ahead of him on a flat, sandy slab of concrete that once was used as an old landing pad. He could see her as she rose, her back still to him, her body outlined in a buttery halo of moonlight.

"Finn," she called as she brushed herself off and turned around, "I'm sorry, I know you want to help, but I really don't -"

The mountain air carried her words away as if they were nothing more than the rustling of leaves. She was still for a moment as she only stood and stared at him, blinking. A bird called somewhere far away in the night to fill the silence, and clouds of vapor left her parted lips. She clearly wasn't expecting him.

Kylo Ren had never felt such terror.

He could survive a sea of bloodthirsty, single-minded artillery droids. He could survive crashing his starship. He could survive being tortured, could survive being impaled, could survive surrendering to his enemy... he could survive leaving the First Order. He could live to tell his tale.

But this woman was the most terrifying creature that walked the whole face of the galaxy, rim to rim.

She could deal him wounds that would never heal. Wounds even Omar wouldn't know how to fix.

She lifted her hand and took one step toward him, and out of a cruel and stupid instinct for mistrust and self-preservation, he stumbled backwards the same step.

"Wait," she whispered, the sound of it reaching him easily across the hoary, timeworn meadow. Her eyes were wide, windows that peeked into the heart of their bond to witness something warm that was blossoming there. Something open, something inviting... and something a little like relief. "Don't go..."

He kept his eyes on hers, just in case. Just in case he was wrong. Or maybe he misread. Or just in case she changed her mind. But he stayed the course, and wandered cautiously toward her. The closer he got, the more he could see what else was waiting in those eyes. The puffy, purple mask of fatigue... the weary, far-off gaze of a soldier who'd forgotten what life was like outside of war... the bloodshot strain of a cornered animal.

That last one he knew too well.

But before he could reach her, he was stopped in his tracks by... a feeling. A feeling as large and as impenetrable as the remnants of the stone bulwark that once lined the old bailey yard. It was like an icy wind that was strong enough to knock him back. It tightened a biting, chilling grip around the bones of his spine... where his neck met his shoulders. It rattled him... with familiarity. He'd felt this feeling once before... years ago... and more recently as well.

"You feel it too?" Rey asked him, having watched him draw up so short it was like he'd been slapped across the face. "It's coming from over there..."

He pushed his way through the tingling, buzzing curtain of frigid negativity to finally join her, and follow the end of her pointing finger. And what he saw, once his eyes adjusted to the low light, was a staircase. A tall, perilous, crumbling stone staircase that ascended to the mouth of a structure - a black, hollow maw made of ravenous, ominous darkness. Which was a strange contradiction. It was the darkness within the two of them it abhorred so vehemently... enough to be off-putting. And it wasn't that it was angry, although he wasn't sure he'd blame it if it was. It was just... sad. Or... disappointed. It was the sorrowful pang of anguish that had clawed its way up their necks, and it served as a warning.

It knew what they had done on the Supremacy.

"What do you think it is?" she asked him.

"You know what it is."

"... What? I... I don't understand..."

"Search your memory," he told her as he angled his body toward her. To face her. Alone, and this close. "You've felt this before."

She scrunched up her eyebrows as she tilted her chin to the ground, sorting the catalog of her thoughts. She shook her head in doubt for a moment as she chewed her thumbnail, but then she flung that hand up into the air. She straightened her shoulders and looked dead ahead with recognition. "Of course! Why didn't I think of it? The lightsaber!" She turned back to him. "When it broke - you felt it too, didn't you? You felt it cry?"

"I did."

"It felt exactly like this. It hurts like... like an ache. Like the kind you feel in your head when you've gone too long without sleep. Or the kind you feel in your joints when you're sick and you can't get warm. But it isn't just pain, it's... it's something else, too. It's..."

She stopped mid-sentence, and the look on her face grew quizzical. She reached an arm around to the back side of her belt, where she unclipped the dangling hilt of Kylo Ren's lightsaber. She gave a tiny, nearly imperceptible little wince as she brought it up to hold it between the two of them, reverently as if it were a flame they were both sharing as a source of heat. And she stared at him for a very long time... searching his eyes for the answer to a question she couldn't bring herself to ask. Knowing the answer, even, as she studied him. His scars were only his to share... but if she asked him to share them with her, he would.

"This is the same pain," she gave the weapon a little jiggle. "Your saber, it... it hurts." He recalled Ali telling him the same thing, in the mines on Churruma. "I don't know how you can hold this thing."

"I'm used to it," he mumbled as his toe dug a muddy little divet through a clump of weeds. It was his pain. It wasn't foreign. And he needed it, he made use of it. He drew strength from it, drew power. Conquering it made him stronger.

"But I still don't understand," she continued. "Why is it the same? Is it because the other saber belonged to your grandfather? Does it have something to do with your bloodline? Or is it the dark side of the - no. No wait.

"I felt this pain when the saber _broke_ , and not before. When the crystal br..."

He was shaking. She was there - standing right there, peering up at him, her toes touching the lip of his sea, and the barrier between them had stretched so thin... so gossamer thin. She was going to reach up and touch it and he was ready. It would sting when the bubble burst, but he was ready. He would say things to her that he'd never told anyone, and he was ready. He would do it - he would let her in. And he was so, so scared.

"Your crystal. It's broken, isn't it?"

But it didn't hurt at all. There was no disgust in her eyes, there was no disdain. Only genuine, empirical curiosity. The desire to know him... in the private, secret way he wished she did. She wouldn't push, she wouldn't pull, she would only wait.

"Yes," was all he could think to say. It came only as a whisper in spite of the power the word held.

"Did... something happen?"

A chilly, impish little breeze lifted a strand of her hair and dragged it across her eyes and the bridge of her nose. Playful and soft, it tickled her and she blinked. Something new and modestly sensual arose within him - it wanted to fixate on the thing and watch it curl its silken ribbon around the pink tip of her finger as she pulled it away, but sadly his eyes were called to drift elsewhere.

Up the staircase.

The cavern of its black orbital seemed so empty it was almost accusatory, like an eye that was closed and turned away, shunning him for the acts he'd committed. That one in particular... the rift that split his crystal. The rift that split his soul. The molten fissure that lie between two disparate, irreconcilable halves. How could he tell her? If he didn't know which side she stood on? Or could she be a bridge? How could he know?

It didn't matter now. They were past the point of vague obscurity or careful half-truths. They were here now, in this place, standing before it the same tool that this galaxy would mold and bend and use and break. She had to know. The tale was cautionary - the information was vital. If he was willing to murder his past and his future to spare her the abuse he'd lived, then he could give her this, too.

"I..." he began slowly, still afraid of her misconceptions of him, "I did it. I drained the light from it. I beat it out of it." He turned from her in shame, turned away from the saber she still held in her hands. A saber he didn't deserve.

"I killed it," he spat at the supercilious void at the top of the staircase. That's what it wanted to hear, he knew it. "I broke its heart, and I bled it dry. And I forced it... I forced it to..."

It mocked him. It dared him to say it. It pulled back its lips and showed him its teeth. Go on. Do it.

"To be something it wasn't meant to be."

 _You cannot deny the truth that is your family._

What he couldn't deny was the way the emptiness way up there threw its shadow down on him - it held him down and bored a hole into his heart. It reached inside him and carved out its own dark cavern... a desolate, sepulchral place that wailed with dry winds and crying spirits. A solemn tomb of suffering and rage. The dreary threat of total consumption that would only attract the most intrepid of explorers...

Like the one that brushed her shoulder against his as she stepped up to join him, dissatisfied with staring at his back.

"So it broke," she said, positing her theory, "and that's why it hurts. And whatever is up there... is in tune with the crystals in our sabers?"

"It is," he responded. "Because it's an old lightsaber forge."

His memory was alive behind his eyes, vivid with images of his own past as a young, dark padawan with an uncut braid. It was a different planet, a different temple, a different forge... but he recalled it all the same as he looked up in trepidation at the climb before them. The sunlit mahogany staircase that had guided his feet that day swam before him, carrying him up each step as if he'd floated on a cloud divined by the Force itself, beckoning him toward the shaded and latticed pergola at its summit. He remembered the tug of the rope as his hands were tied behind his back... restrained as they still were before him, even today...

"A... a what? Did you say a 'forge?'"

"I did. It's a place of power and creation, but it knows what I... what I did. And it knows what we did to your crystal, too. I think it's afraid of us."

"Honestly, I think I'm more afraid of it than it is of me," she told him. "But it calls to me. Why would it do that, if it fears me?"

It called to them both, really - he felt it too, this magnetic, transcendent sort of lull. He wanted to explain it to her, but couldn't find the words. That place up there wanted to sink its teeth into him and gorge itself on his guilt. But her... for her it had something to different offer, it just wasn't sure if it could trust her. Probably because of him. He sighed with disheartened acceptance. He had hoped his usefulness to her - his purpose - would not have ended so quickly.

"Because you need to see it," he told her, with reticence. "It's... important."

"You're coming with me, right?" she asked him out of the corner of her mouth.

Even if he didn't have long to savor it... it was lovely to feel needed.

"Yes," he nodded.

And then he felt it. The long, warm draw of fingers, snaking themselves beneath his arm to rest sweet and heavy at the crook of his elbow. Her eyes were anchored unerringly on their destination, mentally counting each craggy, rocky step that lead them there. But her chin took up residence near his shoulder, and her hip pressed into his, a willing partner. She was so close he could feel her shiver - could see the cold prickles on her skin, could hear her teeth chatter. Somehow the edge of his cloak had made its way around her shoulders. His throat bobbed as he swallowed out of some weird reflex.

And the magic of her touch continued to weave its spell. He glanced up from the place where her fingers rested on his arm to find the blackness at the top of the stairs had waned, lifting its veil to reveal an old and ornate alcove that housed a very simple, very unpretentious, flat stone table.

"This is a holy place," he whispered so softly he could barely be heard over their own footsteps as they rang out with the beginnings of their aged, marbled ascent. "Even before the Jedi cast out their darker half, the Sith... they came here. All of them.

"Well, not _here_ here, but to temples like this. To forges like this.

"For thousands of years, no Jedi was a Jedi until they built their own lightsaber. So each one of them procured a crystal - not just any crystal, but the right crystal. The one that spoke to them. The one that formed a bond. There's a big ceremony and everything," he shrugged. "It's a big deal."

Their breath came faster as they climbed, and beads of cool sweat began to form on his brow.

"So, like, your grandfather's crystal then?" she asked him. "The way it called to me?" He only sighed and ignored her self-satisfied little chuckle, reserving his exerted speech for what really mattered.

"Jedi training isn't just academic lecture or hours of meditation or bruises from a practice yard. We each had a project - to build the hilt of a lightsaber. Countless months - years - of focus went into that thing. For good reason - it was to become a part of you. It was to be the place where you and your crystal touched. Where you were made one.

"And when the hilt was complete, each padawan made their pilgrimage... made this climb." He mopped his damp forehead against his arm. "And it would be here."

At last they reached the top, and the wind tousled the hem of the cloak around their ankles. Rey craned her neck around to take in the architecture - through the clinging vines and scabby lichens they both could make out the graven images of symbols, the kind only found in ancient texts, the kind that had lost their meaning. And there were also the unmistakable, dagger-like depictions of lightsabers. With piety, humility, and regret... Kylo Ren softly laid the fingertips of one cuffed hand on the icy cold stone slab of the table.

"Here, they would form their sacred covenant with each other. The Jedi and their crystal would be bound together forever. And the saber would be assembled through the will of the Force, and the Force alone." He inclined his head toward her. "Which means no hands, by the way."

"Wait... what?"

"And it was terrifying. It wasn't just the pressure of getting it wrong. It felt like... like this. Every time. It would call to you, but it would also force its way inside of you and look at you - really look at you - in a way you couldn't stop. It would see everything. It would... it would _know_..."

That day, he'd stood at the top of that wooden staircase and watched the dark, plaited braid of hair near his temple dangle in the balmy, blue-sky breezes. He'd agonized over what the forge would find inside him... the darkness that cost him the love of his family... the threat that kept his mentor aloof and at arm's reach... the monster that skulked in the darkest corners of his mind, whispering promises... lies... commands...

"Wait, you've done this before..."

He didn't need to speak his answer. He only pulled his hands away to reach for the saber hilt that still hung loosely from her fingers. He expected her to react - to jerk defensively and rip it away from him, but instead she let him take it. The strange affinity, the odd chord of unity, building between them had convinced her to let it go. The solid weight of it clinked when he set it on the table. Small metallic echoes sang from the walls of the enclosed chamber like little bells.

"What am I saying, of course you have. You..." she looked up at him, the light in her eyes kindled by low moonshine, "you built this... didn't you?"

He stared down at it with tender melancholy. It was just one more piece of himself he'd shattered. Not the first piece. Not the last. It was only out of pain the saber spurned all touch... but it would never call for another. It was the only thing in his life that had ever showed him an ounce of loyalty. No matter what, it was still his. And he would claim it with his dying breath.

"I did."

"Then... you're a Jedi, right? Aren't you? Like..." she placed her hand on his saber as if it was a touchstone to the past - as if she was pushing open the door that barred the way between them, "a real one - an _actual_ one. Isn't that what that means?"

There was no way he could let those words touch his tongue. He couldn't answer her. But her toes were in the water. She was testing out the waves, to see if they were too strong for her to tread, or if she would need to retreat to safer, warmer, friendlier shores. She held fiercely to her life raft of hope though she could see his storm hammering the anvil of the horizon.

She pulled her hand away and laughed - a soft, airy thing that seemed almost self-deprecating. She reached up and tucked that errant strand of hair behind her ear.

"It's funny," she said, "Harlan Nylk called me the last Jedi. Everyone calls me that, even my friends. But I'm not, am I?" She looked up at him again, a clever smile tugging at the edges of her lips. " _You_ are."

Rather than be toppled by the wave that crested over him, ready to drown him in the black, bloody depths of his past, he squared his shoulders and brought himself to his full height. He raised his chin, and the cloak fell away from his shoulders. He allowed the cold to punish him, to rake its talons down his back and beat him. If she really wanted to take a dive beneath the surface and see what lie below, then this was her chance. This was her choice. These were his scars. And he would share them.

"That's because I killed the rest of them," he told her. With bravery... but no pride.

"I still see them," he whispered to her, his eyes locked on a wall his mind refused to see, but used instead as a backdrop for the grisly, sanguine panorama of his sins. "I knew them, you know... we were all just children together. We were just kids. I knew their names. I knew their secrets. I read the books that they read. I knew the people they loved. I knew the gifts they made for their parents. I laughed at their jokes, I knew their favorite songs.

"I knew their dreams. And their wishes. Some of them we made together. I also knew their fears. Many of them were afraid of me."

The more he spoke, the heavier it got. He placed both hands on the table, and the weight of it bent him over, curling his spine like a bow to stare deep into the face of his saber as it stared back into him... searching each other for help... searching for absolution.

"I could still tell you the names of those who were crushed when the temple came down. I still see their eyes in their sockets. And I know the names of the ones who burned alive. I recognized them by..."

His voice just... broke. His hands became fists. He squeezed his eyes shut and let this frozen, razor sharp blade of penitence slice him from belly to throat. And from it, he summoned the will to continue.

"By their screams. The ones who weren't culled that night I found later. I killed Ansl while she was weeding her garden. I still remember which lily was her mother's favorite. And Garret... he ran so far to escape me, he marooned himself in the middle of a desert. By the time I found him, he was begging me to cut his throat. Ninthou cried and begged and pleaded for his life, and made me promise to tell his mother he was sorry. Clair fought me with everything she had - told me her only regret was that Master Luke didn't swing faster, before I woke up. She refused to die, even to the last - even as she was choking on her own blood."

Blood he could taste. Blood and bile. He wanted to be sick. He wanted to die. He wanted to live a better life. He wanted to fix everything, do it all over. He wanted to forget it ever happened, but he needed it in order to survive. He didn't want to be this thing. But he'd never had permission to be anything else.

"I am no Jedi," he confessed to her as he sank to his knees and rested his feverish forehead against the cool metal cuffs that bound his fists. "I never have been. Not from the start. They all knew what I was, all of them. My mother... my father... They all tried to ignore it, they tried to change it, tried to avoid it, but they always knew. They knew what I am.

"I _am_ a monster. I am. I know it. I'm aware. That's all I've ever been. All of my life. A killer. A demon. I slaughtered every single last one of those Jedi for him. I did it, and I loved every minute of -"

"That's a lie," she scolded him suddenly, stunning him with the sharp, dissonant bite of her tone. He slid his face into the bend of his elbow, and looked at her through one uncovered eye. "I don't even need to feel it through the Force - I can see it all over your stupid face. I'm sitting right next to you, for stars' sake - looking right at you - and I know you're lying to me. And yourself.

"You never took any pleasure in serving him. The things he asked you to do? In return for whatever he promised you? They were difficult because they _hurt_. And he destroyed you.

"You want to know what I think?" she asked him as she flipped around to sit with her back leaned against the table as she draped the cloak across her legs. "I think the reason you can't seem to kill your past, Ben, because you don't take any _pleasure_ in it. There's still a part of you, deep inside, that you can't kill because you want it to live.

"I know this because it's the same part of me that couldn't leave Jakku. I was so desperate for a family that would never return that I would have died there. Withered up and blew away on the wind. And then BB-8 showed up. My point is... I left. I had never seen anything outside of sand in my entire life... and I left.

"And so did you. Just like me. You gave up _everything_. You made a choice, and you left. Because something came along that gave you hope, and you wanted it.

"So be honest with me - be honest with both of us. Did you really only leave the First Order to save Ali? Or did you leave because you wanted to?"

 _There's no such thing as Destiny... there's only Choice._

He didn't know why he couldn't just... say it to her. He didn't know why he clung to the truth so hard that he smothered it and buried it so deep. There was still just something so heretical... so anarchical about it. Even if he knew what he wanted.

A purpose. A reason. A direction. A line to follow, in lieu of his loss in faith, to lead him toward the light at the surface. To float instead of sink. To close his eyes and breathe good, clean air. He wiped his face against his elbow as her question tumbled through his thoughts. He, too, turned to sit and put his back against the table, and he pulled his knees up as tight as his long frame would allow. He gazed up at the stars and released a long, slow breath of fog.

"I killed my father for money," he heard himself admit at last. Out loud, for the universe to hear. Like diving off the deep end. Stripped bare and vulnerable. It almost didn't even sound like him, but more like some disembodied spirit that stepped in to rob his voice and taunt him. But it was the truth. "I killed the Jedi for money. I killed women and children for money. To buy a fleet. To create a war. All of them - they all gambled on my stupidity... and they won."

"You are not stu-"

"My father even tried to tell me. I should have listened to him. A smuggler would have known. I was just a game piece they moved wherever they wanted. For a game that started before I was even born.

"Snoke knew just what to do. He knew how to make me his. He knew the inside of my mind like a star map. He knew all of my weaknesses, all of my wishes. And he knew how to take everything from me," he said to the place where the peaks of his knees blotted out the stars. "And I let him."

"He changed you into something you weren't meant to be," she repeated to him, tilting her head toward him.

He turned to look at her, sitting there, so close he could feel the heat coming from her arm... could smell the soap she used on her skin, in her hair. It reminded him of the time once, seemed like ages ago, when the Force connected them because she'd sought him out for comfort. For understanding. He remembered the sudden, emotional impulse that had demanded that they touch. He remembered damp fingertips over a fire. He resisted the urge to seek her hand once again.

"And now they're going to use you, too," he said to her eyes.

"I know," she replied, reaching with one hand all the way to the top of his knee to give it a couple light taps - a silent request. He complied and shifted to fold his legs into a position that mimicked hers. When he was settled, she tossed the other half of the cloak over his lap to keep him warm. She scooted closer to give them both ample room for sharing... so close she could have rested her head on his shoulder.

If she wanted to.

"I need your help. You're the only one I can talk to about this," she told him.

It struck him, but gently with a sweet, aching pleasure that soaked him to his core. He watched her face fall - her eyes landed on the open palms that rested in her lap. She examined every line, every crease in the knuckles of her fingers, as if they were carved out of the same freckled granite that surrounded them. "You're the only one who knows what this is like. To be so... so strong. And yet... so powerless."

Like every time the nightmare in his head would rock him to sleep while his mother was away on business. Like every time the specter promised him power and Legacy when he was being crucified for his abnormality. Like every time his master beat him and beat him and beat him until he was fast enough to dodge a blow... a saber... a blaster bolt. The way he thanked him it.

And then there was the way he sacrificed his own wants and needs... the way he sold his entire life away for a tiny morsel of praise.

To live in a place of power and control.

To be crippled by weakness.

To be powerless.

And now, to surrender to the exhilirating fear of forging a new path... but this time, not alone. And not without purpose.

The realization awoke something new and ferocious. He could handle the abuses he suffered. He could handle the torturous cruelty and all of his years of pain. He could even handle the indignity and debasement of knowing he'd been successfully victimized.

But he wouldn't let it happen to her.

And it was true. He didn't just leave the First Order to save Ali. He didn't even leave it to save her. Or himself. It was because there was no place for him there. No place like this, under this cloak, under these stars, under her warmth, under the scent of her skin. This was a place that didn't hurt him. This was a place where he still had work to do - something good. Something that felt right... felt real.

There was still one last thing they had to do.

"You're not powerless yet," he told her. "You have a crystal, you have a hilt, and you have a forge. And..." he tucked his chin away from her, afraid she could see the color rising to his cheeks, even in the inky blue dim of night, "and you have me."

"Wait, what? We can't - Ben, that thing is -"

"A Jedi isn't a Jedi until she builds her lightsaber, Rey."

"But..." he saw her glance up quickly at the blackened, cross-shaped hilt on the table behind their heads. She thought she'd evaded his notice. She didn't.

"Her _own_ saber."

She folded her arms across her chest in sulky petulance.

"Ben. Seriously. The hilt of that saber was ripped completely in half - it is absolutely mangled! I mean, yes, I know, it's possible to pull together some pieces here and there to craft a new one... And, I... okay, sure, I have some ideas, but... Ben, the crystal is cracked all the way through - it's basically split in two! Where on world am I going to find another one?"

He didn't know what made him to do it. It was like he'd been possessed, but only for a moment. He couldn't recall what crazy compulsion had taken him over just then but he did it and he wasn't sorry, and he wasn't taking it back. He could swear he just blinked but when he opened his eyes, both cuffed hands had reached for her face.

And she let him.

The velvet sweep of her jawline... the cotton drops of her earlobes. The thick blanket of her hair. And her downy puff of breath on his wrists. But more than anything... it was the way she didn't pull away. She wasn't rigid with shock or paralyzed in fear. He didn't repulse or revile her. He just simply had her attention. Undivided. And her eyes held his the way Ashla held Bogan, so dearly, so high up above.

Something raw and sore clouded his voice when he said what he needed to say.

"Broken things can still be useful, Rey."

And her eyes... oh, those eyes. They didn't just search within him. They found him. They peered so far, so deep inside that they found the tiny, jagged pieces he'd tried to cast away and they put them back together again, like a puzzle. He bared himself wide open to those eyes and they saw him and gave him meaning again. And they welled with tears that glittered and mirrored the tiny pinpoints of stars above. A flush of warmth flooded his fingers when she placed her hands over his. The way she held him to her there, the way she clung to his touch, consented to it and lingered on it... it filled his entire body with new life.

"Well that's good then," she told him, her lips whispering against the swell of his palm. "Because broken things are my area of expertise."

And so they sat there. Together. And for a long, long time... which seemed like no time at all. They snacked on ration bars in comfortable, companionable silence. They laced their fingers together and warded off the brisk, overnight chill. And they watched the moons - the two forbidden lovers - slowly march their celestial promenade across the starlit field of sky.


	19. Ch 19: Stronger and Smarter

**Chapter Nineteen: Stronger and Smarter**

 _A few days earlier, over Korriban_

"Just hang on, Threezie. We're almost there."

PK-3334 did everything she could to keep from outwardly groaning when a pair of drunken officers entered the turbo lift. To keep the illusion of propriety, she let go of Tom's arm and retreated from him a step or two. She was determined to stand on her two own feet and refrain from throwing up everywhere. Doing so would only arouse unwanted suspicion - they were technically on duty and hadn't joined the dinner party. And, of course, since they were just infantry they weren't invited anyway, although that hadn't stopped the greater bulk of the troops from taking advantage of the brief lull in activity to blow off some steam. Nonetheless, she didn't want to have to answer any undue questions about why an on-duty soldier was painting the toes of a uniformed lieutenant with the contents of her stomach.

Assuming she could get her helmet off fast enough.

There was no way they'd believe she wasn't just as intoxicated as they were... not if she couldn't tell them she was pregnant.

"Desig...nassssshun... troopuh," one of the officers drawled wetly, attempting to belittle them and throw around his authority. Officers were generally encouraged to do so at the behest of their superiors. Quite often. And quite publicly.

"TM-9805," Tom replied cautiously, but obediently. "TM" was a common prefix amongst the numbered ranks of low-born or orphaned Stormtroopers - those whose heritage could not be traced back to the families of the old Empire and were therefore not afforded and the priviledge of a family name. The greater bulk of the "TM"s referred to themselves as "Tom" or "Tim," or "Tam" or even "Tami." There were tens of thousands of "Tom"s representing their vast and great Order. There were eight in Threezie's unit alone. But this Tom was hers. And he knew her well enough to know by her body language that she was pressing together everything she had to keep her innards down.

"And PK-3334," he supplied, speaking for her knowing she could not. "Ninth Imperial."

"Lothhhhh-cat gotcher tongue?" the officer leered at her laciviously, in spite of her traditionally shapeless and genderless white plastoid armor.

"Throat punched during a training exercise," Tom lied. "Orders are no talking until the medic droids remove the trachial implant."

"Nasty business, that," the second officer cooed as he leaned far too casually to be believed against the far wall of the lift. He stumbled over his one crossed ankle when they came to a stop at their exit. "That what don't kill ye makes y'stronger."

"Hahaha," laughed the first one as he grappled with the door frame on the way out, "tell that to Jenson!"

Lieutenant Jenson. His eyes milky pale, the charred hole between them where the blaster bolt had taken his young life...

Threezie's stomach roiled as she burped and swallowed something chunky.

"Wow... buzzkill," they heard the other officer mutter to his friend before the doors slid shut and sealed them in blessed silence once more. But then the lift shuddered back to life to progress to the next floor, and it was all a girl could take. She slammed the butt of her fist into the button for the next level and staggered out as quickly as the door could open.

"Threezie - wait!" Tom hissed after her, barely making it out before the doors cut them off from one another. "We're supposed to be on duty - we can't be seen here!"

She couldn't help the tight-lipped whimper that escaped her as she tore open every latch on her helmet and ripped it off her head.

"Kriff, what are you - where are you going?!"

The first open door was a dark and empty gathering hall - the very one she'd stood in countless times with her unit and many others as she'd received orders, listened to lectures, debriefed missions. There was a hatch on a nearby wall, near the exit, that opened onto a chute that lead to the compactor. These were commonplace - the initiative to keep gathering spaces clean was predictably routine.

She yanked back the lid on the hatch and stuffed her face inside. She lamented the chestnut braid that fell around her neck as she projectile vomited straight down the length of the fathomless chamber. She could scarcely hear Tom rustling around behind her over the echoes of her own retching. He was searching in the dark for a way to close the door.

"Mother of Makers, there's no way they're not gonna hear us," he moaned, helplessly. "I'm so sorry, my sweet star..."

After flipping several wrong switches, blinking the lights on and off and altering the climate control, he finally succeeded in his quest. He pressed the proper button and kept his face glued to the door's closing gap until it finally slid shut, leaving them once more blissfully alone and unnoticed. While Threezie coughed up a second wave, Tom sauntered over to a nearby seat and settled in for the wait. He flopped down and slowly, one by one, undid the latches on his own helmet before he lifted it away to pass a hand over his sweat-dampened hair.

"This is all my fault."

"No," she answered him breathily, putting her back to the wall and sliding down it to take a seat next to her hastily discarded helmet. "It isn't like that. I haven't usually been all that sick..."

"No, it is. I knew I was overdue for my shot, but we did it anyway. I should have said no."

"What can I say?" she said as she stifled a foul belch behind the back of her hand, "my charms are irresistible."

"This is an unsanctioned pregnancy, Threez," Tom despaired. "What's gonna happen when they find out?"

"It's worse than that. I have to... Oh, Tom..." she sighed as she picked her helmet back up and turned all the latches outward facing, in preparation of donning it. "I have to tell you what I saw."

"I still don't know what you mean by that... is it really that bad? Is it worth the demerits? Because you know it, they'll send us to some rock to dig latrines, and you can't be doing that kind of hard labor - Threezie, if we don't make the next check in -"

"Tom. We have to get off this ship."

"W-what?!" That was not what he was prepared for her to say. "You, you can't be... Threezie..."

He'd clearly expected her to say something like, "just a few more minutes," or, "we've gotta figure out a way to get me bigger armor," but _this_... They both knew they wouldn't be able to hide this pregnancy forever. And she knew they both wished they could be a real family, somewhere out there with a small home making a small living. Someplace where the Order would never find them. And even though they both knew how impossible that was... there were rumors... a legend, even, of one who did.

Before today, Threezie hadn't been so sure it was wise risking their lives, and the life of their unborn child, on something as diaphanous as a legend.

But now...

"Are you crazy? Did you hit your head or something - can you hear yourself talk?"

But Tom didn't see what happened.

To Lieutenant Jenson's body.

He hadn't been exposed to a truth so horrific... so gruesome...

She put the image out of her mind for a moment to continue trying to get her stomach to settle. She chose to hang her thoughts, instead, on the one thing that gave her hope.

"We both know it's not impossible, Tom."

"Stars... not this again..."

"Yes! FN-2187 was just like us! If he can do it, then -"

"Threez, we don't even know if he was real! We don't even know if he actually ever existed in the first place!"

"He did! AJ said so! Tom, you know as well as I do that AJ isn't the kind to make up stories, and if he believed Jay Zero, then there has to be a reason."

"Threez, I just..." he rubbed at his eyes the way he usually did when he was frustrated, "I just have a hard time believing that anyone in the Thirty-Second Squadron would have access to any kind of resource in Archives."

"Tom," she beseeched him as she rose to claim the seat next to him. Lovingly, she laced the fingers of her own gloved hand into his. "We're all still human. It's human nature. We form connections, we form... relationships."

They way he looked at her melted the worry away... just for a minute. Just for a minute, they were back in that time when he'd first been assigned to her unit... or the time they'd first patrolled together, navigating the perimeter of a silent and vacant village under siege... or the first time they'd held hands like this as they'd walked beneath another unfamiliar blanket of alien stars.

Or the first time they'd made love, stealing away for a scant few moments of blissful privacy in the seclusion of a locked sanitary supply closet - a superior alternative to the stacked and crowded bunkhouse they customarily slept in.

"Look," she told him, squeezing his hand, "if it can actually be true that Double D was secretly involved with a Captain up in Astrometrics, then I really think it's possible that AJ knows someone who knows someone else in Archives. He said the old Starkiller duty rosters did, in fact, list an FN-2187. Tom, he was _real_.

"And he did it. He left. And so can we."

"Threezie," he said to her, once again attempting to be the calm voice of reason... the _incorrect_ calm voice of reason. "Every vehicle on this ship is tracked. Even if we disable the device, they'll know when it drops off the grid. They'll know when we leave... they'll know where we go. I don't know how to trick that."

"There has to be a way. If FN-2187 could get himself off of something as big and as dangerous as the Starkiller, then we have to be able to get off of this ship."

"Threez... that's, uh..." He was so close to saying something he didn't want to say. But he didn't have a choice. "Look. Assuming the stories are true - and I'm not saying they are! But for the sake of argument... that's not what I heard happened."

She scrunched up her nose in confusion.

"... What do you mean?"

Granted, she'd heard a lot of different rumors. And all of them sounded more like theories calculated to separate what was really possible from what really wasn't. She'd heard he'd learned how to hack a tracking device. She'd heard he'd dressed up as a Moff and commandeered a whole Star Destroyer, which she had to admit probably wasn't very likely. But she'd also heard he'd stowed away on a commercial goods freighter, and that was the most plausible theory of them all. But she hadn't heard any stories that didn't involve him escaping Starkiller Base.

"Yeah, I... look. I didn't tell you this, okay? Because I knew what you'd say. But I know someone who talked to Jay Zero, too."

"Tom... starshine, you can always tell me these things. Did you think I'd make fun of you? Is that it?"

"No, I just... I don't know what I thought. I just wasn't sure if I believed it, is all. It doesn't matter now. The girl said that the duty roster listed him as active on more than just the Starkiller. He was also aboard the Finalizer... and was marked MIA after the assault on Jakku.

"If Jay Zero is to be believed - and really," he waggled a finger, "I think he's suspiciously well connected for your average bucket-headed blaster jockey, but if he is... then he went down to Jakku with Kylo Ren... and didn't come back.

"Which, honestly, means he's probably dead. But even if he's not... he got out because he got planet side. If you're serious - if this is what we have to do... then that's what we have to ask ourselves.

"How do we get," he pointed his finger down at the floor, "down _there_?"

"For starters," called a voice from behind the door before it tore open, pulling a cool breeze from the room past Threezie's shoulders, "you should find a better spot to have your conversation."

In the light of the corridor stood the shape of a slight woman in crisp, flawless, regulation Imperial dress. Her colors were grey, but the cords and half-cape that adorned her were more formal than usual. She'd come from the party, but she was as sober as a pod-racer on race day. She clasped her hands behind her back and stepped inside the room... but she did not turn on the lights after she closed the door.

Despite her intuition that something was a bit... off about this encounter, Threezie snapped to attention next to Tom. As was standard protocol. Her eyes adjusted quickly having been thrown back into low light. She recognized the woman before them. Her stomach gurgled with dread.

It was Lieutenant Allerset. Who was General Hux's personal attache.

"Designation," the Lieutenant demanded shortly.

"TM-9805, Ninth Imperial," Tom responded with a quick, smart salute.

"PK-3334," Threezie said as she mirrored him. "Same."

"Hmm. Ninth Imperial," Allerset repeated. "You call yourselves the 'Gale Force,' do you not?"

Threezie thought it was a clever play on the word "Stormtrooper."

"Yes, sir. We do. The Order's finest."

"Of course. Well then. Come with me," the Lieutenant directed. They had no choice but to follow. But they didn't leave the room... Instead, they approached the podium in the rear, standing tall against the glass viewport that looked out onto the wide expanse of training courts adjoining the infantry barracks below.

"You were speaking loudly next to a door in a room that echoes," she told them. "These doors are hardly sound-proofed. I've a mind to call you in for questioning. Are you on duty?"

It would do them no good to lie.

"Yes," Threezie admitted to the woman.

"I see. And he is the father of your child?"

Threezie failed to suppress the gasp that left her ashen face. The Lieutenant had heard... everything. They were doomed. Any plans they'd had even the barest hope to form were sufficiently tossed down the compactor chute with the rest of her half-digested dinner. They had more to worry about now than a freshly-discovered, unsanctioned pregnancy. They had quite clearly been plotting their desertion.

Which was tantamount to treason.

Threezie would be jailed until she gave birth. Tom would spend the rest of his miserable life guarding listening posts on Hoth, or someplace equally inescapable. And that was if they weren't both summarily executed. They would never see each other again. And the fate of their child... She focused on her duty and her acumen, but couldn't help the tears that welled in her eyes.

"He is," she responded, reluctantly.

The Lieutenant only nodded.

"You are mostly correct," she whispered, her grave, hushed tone raising a chill against the back of Threezie's neck. "FN-2187 does exist, and he is still alive. He defected to the Resistance and adopted the name 'Finn.'"

"W-why are you...?"

"Listen to me. He did not disappear from the planet's surface. He was there, but he returned to the Finalizer with his unit. Along with a prisoner - a Resistance pilot. Together they stole a TIE fighter and crashed it on Jakku. After it exploded, the desert sands swallowed it whole. We were able to triangulate its position, but only luckily. The tracking device did ultimately cease operation. The incident was covered up to delay outside intelligence from catching word of a breach in our security, but those are the circumstances you would need."

Threezie could see Tom glance down at her out of the corner of her eye. He was still nervous, but they were both starting to catch on to what the woman was trying to tell them.

"You could steal a ship... but then then you'd need to crash it someplace where it could be swallowed whole. And, presumably, you would also need to survive the crash. Unswallowed.

"Either that, or... you would need to make use of a ship that did not belong to the First Order."

"Wait..." Tom interjected.

"Like the one sitting in the third west hangar bay, right now."

"The..." Tom breathed before he risked another glance to Threezie. "The Chef. The one who catered the Officers' dinner..."

Threezie locked eyes with Tom for a moment before she looked back to Lieutenant Allerset. Something on the woman's face had changed. The stern commanding officer had disappeared, leaving behind a quiet, maternal desperation that could only be shared and understood between women.

It was a look that could only be recognized by one mother to another.

Threezie didn't budge when the Lieutenant stepped forward, but her hand trembled when the woman took it into her own.

"If you can get yourselves out of your armor and down to the third west hangar bay in fifteen minutes, I can arrange for you to be named on the duty roster enlisted to assist the chef's crew in packing his gear and his personnel back onto his ship. But you must hurry."

"Why... why are y-"

"Go! Quickly! And don't get caught. No one else on this ship will help you."

Allerset dropped her hand and backed away slowly, turning away from them to approach the viewport and stare forlorn across its lengthy span. Tom didn't waste any time in grabbing her elbow to pull her along.

"I don't understand," Threezie called to her as they made their way toward the door. "Why are you doing this?"

"It's no good to raise a child in this system," was all the Lieutenant would say, her face so close to the glass her breath left a circle of fog.

It was all Threezie needed to know. But then she remembered something. Something urgent. Something she could give the woman by way of thanks. She pushed Tom's hand off of her arm to get him to wait, just a moment longer.

"Lieutenant Allerset," she said. "There's something you need to know. You need to know what happened to Jenson."

"I know what happened to Jenson," the woman replied, turning just at the waist to tuck her chin against her shoulder. "I was there."

And it was true. Only three had entered the chamber on Korriban to retrieve the Infinite Engine. But of them, only two had left it alive. It was at that moment the Engine had begun to name its carnal price.

"No," Threezie told her. "I... I mean...

"I mean _after_."

It was the way the woman lifted her chin. It was the way the steel gaze of the commanding officer clouded her face once more. It was the way her lips were pulled into a taut, thin line.

She already knew.

And there was nothing she could do to stop it. Outside of help a pair of innocent victims escape. And an innocent baby.

General Hux had no idea how fragile his house was beneath him.

"Go," was the Lieutenant's only response.

This time when Tom pulled her she obeyed, blinking and dazed with the realization that the entire commanding body of this once great Order was complicit in its own destruction. "War is a machine." A tenet they'd heard over and over, from the top down. But Machines required fuel. The Engine required fuel.

And a body could only bleed itself so dry before it finally withered up and died.

* * *

 _Now_

There was something soothing and meditative about the toasty crackle of a fire beneath a sweeping, fathomless field of stars. The cocoon of trees that enveloped them had even started to feel less threatening, although pale, voyeuristic faces of curious spirits still watched them from where they peeked between the trunks.

"Can you see them?" Rey asked Ben Solo.

"Stop stalling," he chastised her as he swatted her knuckles with an errant branch he'd been fiddling with to hide his nervous fidgeting. "It's just an end cap, I already told you, you're not going to hurt anything.

"And yes... I can see them."

They'd moved down from the top of the staircase - the breeze at that elevation had chilled the stone to a degree that'd grown mildly uncomfortable. Rather than return to the main campsite, they'd decided to build a little fire of their own, encapsulating them in an bubble of cozy, warm firelight to ward off the encroaching evening cold. Rey hadn't yet been anxious to rejoin her friends. She still felt betrayed, having been sold like a ripe melon to an enemy they knew nothing about by someone she'd trusted implicitly. Like a family member. The hurt that still raged within her was clawing a bit too closely at the surface. It was still just too difficult to face any other friends she thought she knew so well.

"Do they talk to you, too?" she asked him as she once again folded her hands behind her back in accordance with his prior instructions.

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched him dip his chin and pick at a dry, curled up leaf on his branch. A thick strand of black hair fell down to cast a shadow across the scar on his face.

"Yes," was all he managed to say. He didn't seem eager to divulge any further details.

"They keep asking me what I'm doing here," she confessed as she twisted her fingers together behind her while she stared intently at the end cap terminating the hilt of Kylo Ren's lightsaber. "And they keep asking me who I am, but they don't seem to like my answer. Maybe I'm just not understanding the question. Do they ask you who you -"

"No. End cap. Focus."

He flicked the little branch toward her kneecap, but this time she was faster. She caught it quickly and stole it from him to send it sailing off into the deep, dark haunted woods. It impaled an unsuspecting ghost before clattering to a stop between a log and a couple of rocks. She sneered at him with a wry humor that eased a tiny prickle of regret - the twig had been a useful instrument to calm his ceaseless, inexhaustible font of anxiety. But if she had to focus on the task at hand, then so should he. And though his instructions seemed effortlessly straightforward... it would only take one wrong move...

She flopped her hands back into her lap.

"Ben, are you really sure that -"

"Oh come on, we're not really gonna go over this again, are we?" he asked her as he crossed his arms over his chest. "The saber isn't even on, Rey. I promise you, nothing is going to happen."

"Ben. Seriously. What about your refractory lens? Isn't it housed in the end cap?"

"No, that's the conductor."

"Are you sure? I thought the - "

"The refractory lens is soldered in place above it."

"Soldered? Honestly, why in the world would you need t- oh... Is that because of your crystal?"

"U-uh..." he paused. In spite of his decision to tell her about his crystal and what had happened to it, it plainly was still a topic that caused him discomfort. Nevertheless, the crack that split the thing was now an affliction her own crystal shared. He had to be open about this. The information was vital. "Yes. I... needed it to be precise. No matter what. Otherwise..."

"You'd risk blowing your own hand off."

He worked his jaw and slowly shook his head back and forth, noncomittally.

"... There are... parts of the Skywalker family legacy that don't need reliving."

Rey couldn't help the laugh that escaped her.

"There's a goal! To be the first Skywalker family man who managed to keep all of his limbs into old age!" But then a horrid thought struck her. "Wait, does that mean I'll have to solder mine?"

"Can we just get back to -"

"Do I have to do that without my hands, too?!"

"Rey. Right now I'm not even convinced you can remove a simple end cap."

She sighed through her nose and scowled at him.

"Fine."

She hooked her fingers together behind her back once more. She'd show him.

She knew what he was trying to get her to do and it wasn't his fault - he'd only been molded into this shape by years and years of formal education. Years longer than than the brief glimmer of training she'd had before she gave up on it. The ancient Jedi texts nestled deep down in the bottom of her satchel prattled endlessly about focus in their unique, aging, loop-like scribbles. Focus, focus, focus. And discipline. Because focus required discipline. And discipline was not her strong suit.

Perhaps if she'd have grown up with parents...

But Rey of Jakku never had to learn patience or discipline. Because Rey of Jakku dug a life of her own out of the shifting, fickle sands by herself, which only meant that if Rey of Jakku wanted or needed a thing... she just reached out and took it. Through whatever means available. Through the shortest, easiest, and most efficient route. Because no one else was going to help her.

And trying to remove an end cap without the use of hand gestures felt... well, stupid.

Like, really. Why would any normal, sane, and rational force-sensitive individual not use hand gestures to guide the will of the Force? Why would anyone do this? What purpose did it serve? Seriously, who does this!? Completely useless.

But it didn't matter. Ben Solo was not going to give up, and if he could do this when he was, like, twelve - and she could defeat him with all of his abilities as a grown man - then she would not allow him to best her at this. Her pride simply would not permit it. Ben Solo was undeniably a powerhouse of raw strength... but she was stronger. She knew it - they both knew it. She would master this.

So she pulled in a deep, cool breath of frigid mountain air and released a long, slow exhale to center herself and shut out any last meandering thoughts or distractions.

Like how close his knee was to touching hers. And how his fingertips danced across that knee as he continued to fidget and tap, still acutely aware of her near proximity. She understood what he was feeling. This truce between them was still new, and seemed as fragile as the end cap she was trying desperately not to savagely rip off the end of the lightsaber. They were both afraid that only one wrong move would bring an end to this... tenuous and thrilling new connection they'd formed beneath these stars. Navigating the maze that'd wound its way between them would take caution and care. And probably focus and discipline. So it was best if she just got to work.

The problem was that the end cap was threaded on. Lifting the saber into the air without the aid of a hand gesture was a fairly easy accomplishment, but trying to wrap her mind around the twisting motion required to remove it was far more difficult. It felt unnatural to try to turn something without gripping it. Not that she couldn't spin the saber in the air if she wanted to, but this was just... different. In the same way that manually unscrewing an end cap required the use of two hands, she almost felt as if she needed two minds. In essence, she had to split her mind into two separate and opposite directions.

But that wasn't even her first problem. Taking hold of the little cap on the end of the hilt, all by itself, was even challenging, like trying to manipulate something oily or slippery. Like trying to pick at a sliver with just the use of blunt, stubby fingertips. It required the sort of mental dexterity that necessitated the use of hand gestures. Without them it just felt so... so futile. Exhausting, really.

Her pulse was drumming between her eyebrows and echoing through the hollow spaces of her empty sinuses. She could feel a bead of sweat roll down her temple. Her teeth were grinding together and she couldn't stop holding her breath. But still the thing gleamed innocuously in midair, mottled by the orange reflections of flames, perfectly intact as the end cap would only see to fit to just... wiggle. A little.

"Oh good grief!" she burst, cradling her throbbing head in her hands as the hilt fell to the earth with a soft thud. Still infuriatingly intact.

"What? Why'd you stop? It moved!"

"I know, I just..." she breathed, massaging her forehead. "I just need a moment, this is... honestly, Ben, I don't know how you do this."

"It's not meant to be easy."

"But why wouldn't it be?! This seems like it should be so simple! And I don't understand why I can't use hand gestures! It's not like I'm actually reaching out and picking the thing up, for stars' sake!"

"Because a disciplined mind shouldn't need hand gestures to focus."

"Well, I don't have any discipline, okay!" she snapped at him, pierced by a sharp spike of anger that stabbed at how envious she was of the priviledges he'd enjoyed in his youth, while she'd been a whole galaxy away... parched and hungry and sun-blistered, facing the decision between selling her hard-earned wares for food or out-of-date holovids. They were the only education a girl in her situation was ever going to get. "I didn't get t- I'm not like... It's just... This is crazy! I can lift huge boulders - literal tons of them, all at once! I can pull entire ships out of the sky! But I can't remove a stupid end cap off the hilt of a lightsaber!"

"I couldn't on my first try either. I had to learn."

"But Ben, I don't have _time_ to learn! I need it _now_! Hux has the Engine. He knows how to use it... and we don't have the luxury of getting to set our own time table."

"I know. That's why I'm helping you. It's easier if you don't -"

"Why can't I just use my hands and be done with this?"

"Rey."

She gasped a little as he moved suddenly. There was still a small part of her that expected the unexpected from him, given his past history with capricious violence. But no longer content with merely sitting beside her, he planted both cuffed fists in front of him and scooted around, shuffling about in the fragrant carpet of moss and dirt and tree needles until he finally sat facing her.

"You have to ask yourself," he told her, "what part you're going to play in all of this. You have to ask yourself what this galaxy really needs. Does it need Rey of Jakku? Does it need some... some orphaned scavenger girl? Does it need a broken Resistance with nothing to keep it from falling apart?

"Or does it need a Jedi?"

"But... but what if I'm not... it's, I don't understand what difference -"

"Yes you do."

 _You have no place in this story._

"This has never been about me," he whispered over the snaps and pops of burning wood. "This has always been about you."

And as she stared into his dark, black eyes - as she watched the firelight ripple across their glassy surface while he pursed his lips and just stared straight into her, the truth began to filter through her mind like the first few rays of a misty mountain dawn. She'd even said it herself, once.

 _I'm not really even sure I am a Jedi. I just let people call me that because they need to believe in it._

What was it Omar had said? Belief can move mountains... and sometimes even men. Even General Leia Organa Solo had tried to tell her once, as they'd both clasped their hands together over the severed halves of her lightsaber, when all hope had seemed lost.

She'd told her then that they had everything they needed. Right there.

Ben Solo was right. Rey of Jakku did have no place in this story. Because that wasn't who she was meant to be. She needed to be something this galaxy could believe in.

But first, she had to believe in herself.

"Isn't that giving them what they want?" she asked him.

"It doesn't matter what they want. What only matters is what's necessary."

"You know... I think that's what they've been asking me, these spirits," she said, flinging a hand into the air with droll mockery. "'Who are you?' Ben... I need to ask..."

The question died on her lips, and she found herself suddenly just as nervous as he was. She had to ask it, though. Had been needing to for a long time. But the question was divisive, and this night that they'd been sharing... these stars, these moons... little touches, little connections... this serenity, this peculiar little sense of unity... she was sad to risk its end. But she had to ask.

"I... it's just," she stammered. "In the throne room on the Supremacy, after... after Snoke. After the guards. You said something to me." She didn't miss how his face paled before he turned it away from her, toward the fire. "You told me I was nothing -"

"Rey, I-I didn't -"

"But not to _you_. Ben, please," she leaned forward on her knees conspiratorially, as if she was drawing him into a secret that only the two of them would share. She resisted the urge to take his hands into hers. "It's just us, right now. Right here. Just... just us. No one else. I'd really like to know what you meant."

"Rey, I... i-it was stupid, I didn't... it doesn't really matt-"

"Of course it matters, Ben. You said it. To my face - you said it to me. You told me that I'm not... that I'm not nothing to you." His lips were dry and parted and his eyes were wide with fear: the fear of a man whose heedless confession was coming back to haunt him. The fear of a man whose mouth had talked him into a corner - a man who was afraid he'd spend the rest of his life alone there, belittled and rejected for it. "It matters to me," she told him. "I really want to know. What do you think I am?"

"I..."

"What am I t... to you?"

He stared at the fire for a very long time, listening to the gossipy whispers of spirits in the dark and sending silent, lazy puffs of vapor into the air with every measured breath. He sat cross-legged with his hands in his lap, and his fingertips lightly rattling the short chain connecting his stun cuffs as he rolled it back and forth in between them.

"I... I don't," he began, keeping his eyes as far from her as possible, "I don't always say the things I mean very well. It's, uh... well.

"He was always just... there. He would always... _know_ , you know, what I was thinking. And he was strong. So I had to be stronger. He was smart, so I had to be smarter." Unconsciously, he pinched the hem of his pant leg and began to tug at it. "I've spent a lifetime disguising the things I really wanted to say. I hid the words I wanted between the words I knew he'd approve. Like... like a code. But nothing ever came out right."

She could tell he was avoiding the answer. It was pushing roughly against a boundary he wasn't yet ready to bring down. So... she wouldn't rush him. She'd waited this long and her wait was beginning to pay off, so she was content to wait a little longer.

"Sometimes," he continued, "I think I say things... but in a way that maybe I shouldn't have. I think that's why my parents were so afraid of me."

"Ben," she said to him as she picked up the lightsaber. She tapped it's hefty, metallic weight only twice against his knee. "I knew both of your parents. I talked to your mother quite a lot... about you even. She wasn't afraid of you, Ben. She was afraid _for_ you. There's a pretty big difference. I don't have a mother, and even I know that."

"I know, I..." he started as he stared at the lightsaber in her hands. She could feel the crystal within it ache - it was an ache that was very familiar to her. It was the longing yearn of homesickness. The thing wasn't just broken - it felt lost and uncertain, having been separated from its master. "I know that," he said. "I know that now. It's just... everything that happened, it's... it's difficult to explain."

Difficult for someone who was unaccustomed to speaking freely.

"I know what I had," he stated with force. "I know it. I know I had a family that loved me. I know what I did... and I know what I left behind. And I loved them - I did, I need you to understand that. But where I was going... where I was being... taken... I had a destiny to follow. And I couldn't bring them with me."

"But... but you don't believe in dest-"

"I know. I don't. Not anymore, you're right. I just meant that..." He mashed the heel of one hand against his forehead, rubbing his eyes as he pushed his hair out of his face. There was something frenetic about the movement that spoke more clearly than the words that left him. And it was something new that Rey was starting to learn about him: everything was subtext with Ben Solo. His body often said more than his words. And this time it told her that he was still very confused, and clearly frustrated by it.

It was the same confusion and frustration that had lead her, gusting and blustering like a sandstorm on the rampage, out into these ruins in the first place.

The _exact_ same.

It was exactly what Omar had said. Exploited children became exploited adults. It was easy for lonely, orphaned, misunderstood, or abused children to seek solace in the concept of Destiny. It made the suffering easier, believing that it was all for a purpose or a goal. It was the harbinger of an end to it - the light at the end of the tunnel. It was a necessary comfort that a child could cling to as a matter of survival.

It was also a dangling carrot. Destiny had made them slaves. Made them puppets. And now they both could see the hands that pulled upon the strings.

Those hands had stripped them of all they ever thought they'd be. Those hands were weaving lies as surely as they'd braid a lock of hair. And he couldn't answer her question - couldn't tell her what she needed to be - because he still didn't know who _he_ needed to be. The facade he'd built for himself out of pain and blood and bruises and Legacy had faded away, evaporated by an arid, unrepentant truth, and all that was left behind was Ben Solo... a sad and frightened boy whose only hopes in life had been born from the deceit of his abuser. Alone and helpless, a drop of dew in the desert sun.

Doomed and desperate for Destiny to give him definition.

Exactly just like her.

"What would happen," she dared herself to ask him, "if you said something he didn't like?"

Like the time she'd said no to Unkar Plutt, on a day she'd rationed her water poorly and had run out with still five hours of working daylight left. He'd backhanded her so hard she had difficulty seeing out of her right eye for three days. If she'd been any older than nine, the damage likely would have been permanent.

And as she suspected, his answer was much the same. This time she didn't rely on his words - she watched him instead. His eyes were still following the flames, but his back straightened and his chin lifted and once more the porcelain prince was back on his throne, hidden behind his stony, icy mask. She smiled sadly. His smug, pureblooded Skywalker arrogance told a different story now. She understood now. And in a tragic and bittersweet sort of way... it endeared him to her.

"I got stronger," was all he would say. "And I got smarter."

"Well," she sighed in acceptance as she placed the lightsaber back down in the dirt in front of her, "that's what I have to be now, too. If I am to be this galaxy's new avatar of war," she sing-songed and elbowed his knee in jest, "now that _you're_ no longer with the First Order, and you're on every Mandalorian's hit list..."

He didn't rise to the bait. Kylo Ren wasn't afraid of Mandalorians. He was stronger, and he was smarter. And if Rey knew Ben Solo half as well as she thought she did, she'd wager that he was looking forward to another long, cathartic fight.

Which was not at all what he got.

He'd only just opened his mouth to speak, but whatever keen insight he'd been about to impart was lost to the wind in the leaves.

"So, leave it on the ground. It's easier if you - ungh.."

Rey snapped her head around in alarm. It was clear from the look on his face that something was wrong, but it was dark and the fire threw too many shadows, leaving them blind. He reached his hand up to his neck and pulled something away. When he uncurled his fingers to inspect it, Rey's blood turned cold with dread.

It would appear that the Mandalorians had gotten smarter too.

The dart whose needle was still red with a tiny sheen of his blood was otherwise colorful, small, and comically fuzzy. It looked like it could've belonged on the tail of a pretty little nectar-sipping bird. But there was no telling what kind of poison it could've carried... and now it would run its course.

"No..." she whispered as her eyes met his.

How could they have gotten so complacent!? How could they have placed even one iota of faith in the promises of a person like Xindi with the Exchange Syndicate!? Kylo Ren was a failed gamble - _he_ was the one who had no place in this story now. He was a complication - one that was better off removed. There was no telling how many entities had a vested interest in seeing him dead, least of all the First Order.

Least of all Hux... or maybe most of all Hux. It didn't matter now. She could run to get Omar, but that would mean leaving Ben alone. He would never make it, and she wouldn't abandon him.

He growled low in his throat as he flung the brightly colored barb straight into the fire. He staggered to his feet, ready to fight as hard as his bound wrists would allow him, but the second his blood reached his brain he began to sway precariously. And there were so many shapes moving between the trees, it became difficult to tell the difference between the dead and the living.

Kylo Ren's lightsaber was in her hands before she could even find her feet.

"Ben, sit down," she coaxed him, "the poison will move faster if you keep -"

"COME OUT!" he bellowed at the blank faces in the forest. He stumbled wildly two steps to his left before he pulled his arms back and bent at the middle. "ARE YOU TOO SCARED TO FIGHT ME?!" He raked both hands through the air with almost drunken imprecision and launched a fallen piece of stone staircase to ricochet noisily off of the nearby tree trunks, causing the ghosts lurking there much offense.

Rey ignited the lightsaber in case whoever was out there decided to take him up on his slurred and unconvincing taunt. A branch cracked just beyond the tree line followed by the soft, muffled crunch of footsteps. And someone laughed.

It was a raspy, gravelly sort of laugh.

"You," Rey snarled, squinting into the darkness toward the sound, trying to make out the shape of Sonora Deshra.

"Rey," Ben breathed as he collapsed to his knees and dragged a hand across his face. "I... I can't feel my..."

"I won't let you take him!" Rey shouted into the night. Another twig popped, now a little more off to her left.

"You could fight me, it's true," Sonora purred from where she circled, unseen beyond the aura of firelight. She coughed and it sounded like she spat something wet. "I've been in better shape... you'd probably win if I didn't press my advantages like this. But I've been fighting battles a lot longer than you, cyar'ika.

"And I know something you don't know."

"What have you done to him?" Rey asked, prioritizing Ben's condition over falling prey to some stupid game. She cast her eyes down to her feet instead of straining to see in the dark, and she reached out through the Force to find the source of any movement.

"Relax," the hunter said. "He's just gonna take a nice little nap." As if on cue, Ben sighed his last as his shoulders hit the dirt. "It's _you_ who has bigger problems."

"You keep underestimating me," Rey jeered as she felt it - small and hidden, but it was there. A taut footfall of stealth, coiled like a spring... ready to strike. But Rey struck first this time. She whipped around and saw the barrel of the blaster for only a millisecond before her left hand summoned the Force and ripped the thing away from its owner. Her right hand dropped the saber before it found Sonora Deshra's throat and squeezed.

"I know there's no one else here," Rey told her, stalking toward the woman's prone form, her words as hot as acid. "Omar said you're dishonored. You're all alone. I could just snap your worthless neck right here and be done with it."

"For him?" Sonora wheezed through her grip. "Why? He's useless to you - not worth the blood on your hands." She squirmed in discomfort, but found her opponent's strength to be relentless. "You think your Resistance has a place for him!? They hate him! And he's a liablility to you, everywhere you go - think girl! Hux wants him dead, the Republic wants him dead - the Trade Federation wants him dead! Even your own friends want him dead! And if you choose to keep him next to you, then all those guns are pointed at you! I thought you wanted to save the galaxy! End the war! Don't be stupid, girl! Let him go! He's not worth it. Maybe I can make it worth both our while."

"What, you think he's worth nothing more than a pile of measly credits?!" Of course she did - to a bounty hunter, everyone was simply a lump sum of credits. "You think you're gonna give me something the Exchange Syndicate won't give me at least a thousand times over? He's the last trained Jedi! In the entire galaxy! If he dies, then all of that dies with him! And you're crazy if you think the Federation would point their guns at me. Least of all my own friends."

"Don't be naive, girl... you're nothing to them. The Federation always has a contingency plan."

"Maybe. But for right now, I'm still Plan A. Next to me is the safest place for him. And if you think you can just go through my dead body to fill some, some... some _stupid bounty_ , then honestly I think it's _your_ intelligence that's really in question here!"

"Oh, is that so?" the woman barked a harsh cackle as her cheeks began to redden. "It's amazing to me how quickly you forget everyone else you put at risk. What was it the Twi'lek said again? Remind me... Something about promising his safety... but only while he remains on Tython?"

Rey lowered her arm, but didn't loosen her hold.

"W-what's your point...?"

"That catamaran you're in isn't a space-faring vehicle. You've got a ship in orbit."

"I don't see what that has to do with -"

"And the word around the ol' campfire is that you need to be on Takodana in two days. Would be an awful shame if there was an ambush waiting for you on that ship... did I hear correctly that there are children on board...?"

It was like she'd been gutted by a burning, frozen claw, and all the air inside her was sucked away into the sky. It was everything she could do to keep her legs beneath her.

"You..." she whispered in horror, "you're... animals..."

"No. We're businessmen. And every minute we stand here talking about it is a minute longer those kids get to enjoy our very special brand of hospitality. So, the way I see it, you have a decision to make -"

"You're bluffing!" Rey yelled, gasping for the air that just kept leaving her like a leaky balloon. "You don't have any way of getting him off-world!"

"So I'm just supposed to drag him off into the woods and cut his throat, is that it?! This isn't about a bounty, di'kut - this is about honor! _My_ honor! The honor _you_ stole!" So it was personal, then. So much for businessmen. "You may be bought and sold above my pay grade, but you don't cash in until you reach Takodana. It's _you_ that can't afford to get off-world! And I happen to know where I can find a standard issue New Republic transport ship that may or may not have gotten confiscated."

Poe's ship... of course. The Resistance's last good transport vehicle. Another resource gone.

"So let's you and I make a deal."

And suddenly they were businessmen again.

"I don't make deals with -"

"If you let me take him," Sonora said, the tone in her voice taking on a disturbing conciliatory quality, "I will set those children free."

"No, you're..." Rey released her grip. She didn't have the strength inside to keep a hold of it any longer. Defeat was quickly soaking through her like ice water into a sponge. "You're lying."

"Well, I mean, have it your way. They're probably dead already, anyway."

"Wait..."

In the back of her mind, Rey knew it was too good to be true. She'd known that Ben's defection from the First Order would be more complex than just simply... walking away. And as perfect as it had been, having it all... letting their loneliness thaw and melt away as they sat by a fire, side by side, thinking that the future they once saw together might actually come true... It wasn't their reality. It wasn't the way the galaxy worked. Not for them. There was no good fight. There was no good side. All sides were dirty, were ugly... all sides were bought and sold, paid for with blood money.

And there was no place for him in this galaxy, least of all by her side.

It was still a childish notion she clung to, that evil would always be vanquished by good. That love and hope would triumph over all. That there was a right side and a wrong side, and that everyone and everything fell neatly into little boxes - even Ben Solo. That the universe - even the Force itself - could be compartmentalized that way, cleanly divided between dark and light. But everything was messy. Everything was complicated.

Nothing was ever a matter of choosing right over wrong. It was always choosing which evil was less severe. Which course of action had the more livable set of consequences. There was no heart in war... not when it was nothing but math. Profit margins and probabilities.

And calculating risk.

"How do I know you'll keep your word...?" Rey asked the woman, tentatively.

"You don't," the hunter replied in honesty. It was the first thing she'd said that Rey believed. "And I know you have no reason to think much of me. You don't know anything about me at all, outside of my clan. But I am doing this for honor. I _have_ honor. And if you let me take him... I _will_ set those children free."

And that was the knot in the pit of her throat.

Deep down inside her, down in the splitting heart of her, Rey had always known she would have to make a decision like this someday. It was only a matter of time. It was written across their stars as surely as a map. So... she slowly bent to pick up the lightsaber.

"I'm keeping this," she said.

"Fine with me," Sonora answered. "I don't need him fighting me with it."

"And can I at least..." she cried, begging the tears to sink back into her eyes, "can I at least say goodbye to him?"

"Whatever. It's more than he deserves. Just don't take too long. I'm fairly positive they aren't exactly playing a game of cu'bikad up there with those kids."

Gingerly, Rey knelt beside Ben Solo's sleeping shape. It was a knife to the belly to know that just a scant few moments ago, they'd been shoulder to shoulder, knee to knee, keeping each other warm. Sharing their hurts, drying their tears. Forging a new path and learning new things. About each other, even. Together. So much in the course of a single night. What they could have done over the span of a lifetime...

It hurt. Letting him go was like watching that ship disappear all over again, off once more into the cloudless blue never to return. Wishing his eyes would open was like staring up at those stars, night after night, year after year... and never seeing her hopes materialize from them. Like praying for a destiny that was never meant to be. Like clinging onto something that didn't belong to her... that she was never meant to have.

Because she would have to condemn it to death in the face of a greater good. A lesser evil.

She brushed his hair away from his face and traced the line of his scar - the one she gave him. The one that told a strange and sordid tale of two people, of their history together and what they meant to each other. She smoothed her hand down the length of his arm and folded his hand softly into her own...

And slipped his mother's beacon, unnoticed, onto his wrist.

Her best friend had told her once that there was a short list of things a man wouldn't do for a woman, and that everything else was _everything_ he would do. To show the lengths he would go through to fight for her. To keep her.

And she was willing to fight for him, too.

She would let Sonora Deshra win this battle. But Rey of Jakku had the will of the Force on her side. And it had gifted her many things... including the power of persuasion.

And the eternal spark of hope.

She would find a way off-world. And she would find Ben Solo. Rey of Jakku could find anything.

And Rey of Jakku would win this war.

* * *

 _Then_

While certainly more comfortable, Threezie felt conspicuous and naked arriving for duty out of uniform. She couldn't decide which was tougher to conceal - the blaster pistol stuffed beneath her belt or the petitely swollen belly she held hidden behind her loosely folded hands.

What if this was a cruel set up? Or a trick? That's what Tom thought, which was why he had suggested they attempt to smuggle at least one of their weapons. But really, for her, she was happy to have the thing simply she didn't think it was wise to start any kind of new life with a new baby in a galaxy _at war_... with no protection. Admittedly, it did seem a little convenient that they had been discovered by an unarmed officer while they, themselves, had been fully outfitted. The Lieutenant had been in her dress tack even - it was possible she didn't think she could arrest them, with their weapons and their armor, on nothing but hot air alone. What if this was a ruse designed to better ambush them while they were made more vulnerable to attack? Would they be court martialed before a tribunal, or capitally punished right there on the spot? Publically? As an example?

It was enough to make the acid rise once more into her throat.

"Not now," she grimaced to herself as she massaged her larynx and waited to be addressed by her superior officer.

"Shhh..." Tom brushed his shoulder against hers, quickly enough to look accidental.

At the very strike of the minute, as if she was capable of anything other than the strictest adherance to regulations on timeliness, Lieutenant Allerset arrived at the head of a small entourage of off-worlders - a sous chef and his subordinates under the employ of Gzshardan Dhan, the Fondorian celebrity chef and caterer to their somewhat premature (and possibly ill-considered) victory dinner.

Of course, their chances of success were probably a fairly subjective matter of perspective.

Hissing through the air behind her, pushed by one of the civilian workers, was a large, stacked hovercart whose contents were shielded from view behind a pair of heavy black curtains. It was easy to assume, however, that what was likely inside was a sundry assortment of cookware and kitchen utensils, and possibly crates of leftover unused ingredients.

The Lieutenant snapped to a smart stop at their toes while the following assembly carried on to load the cart and the rest of their gear back into cargo hold of the famous chef's private yacht. Doing a convincing job of feigning ignorance, she brought up a data pad and listed off their designations, as if they'd never met. At least... more than in passing. Threezie felt a fraction of the bile in her gullet recede.

"You will assist me in the customary inspection of their hold once their compliment has stowed all necessary cargo," she told them with the conceit of authoritative rigor. "Any suspicion of contraband is to be reported immediately, understood?"

"Affirmative," Tom answered for them both.

"Good."

And for another fifteen long, grueling minutes Threezie stood next to Tom watching a parade of hovercarts pass by while willing her knees not to lock, causing her to pass out as so many rookies had done during the early days of their training, years ago. Every synapse in her body was trembling with a fierce and electrifying need for fight or flight. There were countless rumors of those who had died trying to make this journey. There were still more of those who made it only to commit suicide later.

FN-2187 was the only one who'd made it and lived. On record anyway. Hence why he was so legendary amongst their ranks, to the point of village superstition.

So to say their odds of escape weren't good... was a vast understatement.

But just when she thought she'd have to scream to break the tension, the last cart entered the yacht's cargo hold.

"You there!" the Lieutenant called out to the worker who was laboring to stuff the thing up the unforgiving incline of the gangway ramp before she added, "come with me," to them under her breath. Dutifully, they followed as she approached the entryway to the interior of the craft. "This is the last one, is it not?"

"It is, esteemed hostess." Fondorians were known for their flowery turns of speech, likely a cultural artifact of their highly stratified social system.

"Very good. Here," she indicated Tom. "Take this on board, see that it is properly secured. Await further instructions there."

"Aye, aye," Tom replied as he moved to take his place at the hand rail. It was all Threezie could do to keep her stomach from leaping around in cartwheels when they crossed the darkened threshold into the bowel of the ship. It was a miracle they'd made it this far. She just had to keep it together a little longer.

"Take your staff back to the cordoned waiting area," she could hear Allerset's muffled voice just outside the portal. "They are to wait behind the ropes. Their toes are not to cross the yellow line, is that understood?"

"Of course, esteemed hostess."

"Very good. My crew will alert you when our inspection is complete. I -"

"With all due respect, my good benefactor, do you have any estimate on how long this might take? His Great Culinary Master does have a tight schedule to keep."

"I assure you this is all very routine," the Lieutenant droned with mild impatience while she strained to maintain a calm manner of civility. "When we are finished you will be alerted at once and from there you will be given clearance to depart at your leisure. But not before. I do hope you will understand. Now, if you please..."

"Yes... yes of course."

And that's when Threezie heard it... like a small sniffle. A tiny rustling of cloth.

Which either meant that a member of the chef's crew was lagging covertly behind, incognito, and consequently incongruent with the stated directive from command...

Or they had a stowaway.

"Tom," she whispered to him.

"I know, I heard it too."

"What should we do? We're technically not supposed to be here ei-"

"Shh!"

"Alright," Lieutenant Allerset called quietly as the light claps of her boots brought her up the gangway and into the hold. "We haven't much time. Listen closely.

"Fondorians do not have body hair. I clearly cannot pass you off as one of their crew, so we'll have to do this the old fashioned way. I've ensured that -"

"Why are you doing this?" Tom blurted, stopping her mid-sentence. She only blinked at him, nonplussed. "Helping us? Taking this risk? I still don't understand it. Why?"

"Because..." the Lieutenant paused as she straightened, tugging down at the hem of her jacket before clasping her hands at her waist. "Because I need you to do something for me in return."

And in spite of her well-practiced and perfected bland facial expression, there was something plaintive about her tone. It was the same note of pleading that Threezie had heard before.

Without preamble or any further explanation, the woman turned on her heels and strode quickly over to a properly stowed hovercart near the rear of the hold. She knelt down beside it and pulled aside the curtain.

"Present yourself, officer."

Out from within crawled the tightly folded and neatly dressed body of a young, blonde boy, roughly twelve to thirteen years of age. And although he obviously found these circumstances to be quite strange and perhaps a little upsetting, he complied to the letter as a good officer should.

"Your rank?" Allerset demanded of the child.

"Still a Cadet, sir. Cadet Eri-"

"NO! No names."

"Oh, uh... y-yes sir. I'm... I'm still a Cadet. I have not yet been given my exams before the board."

"Very good." The Lieutenant stood tall before him, at rigid attention as she stared at him down the length of her nose. "And do you know who I am?"

"I, uh... no sir," the boy answered, mimicking her poise yet still quavering with uncertainty. "I am sorry. I am still at Academy."

And it was the way Allerset's shoulders relaxed as she nodded that told Threezie something horrifying and sad. The picture was suddenly drawn into crystal clear focus. Something within her chest began to swell and ache.

"Of course," the Lieutenant replied, coughing demurely to dislodge something that had crawled its way into her throat. "That would stand to reason. Very good." Once again, she produced her datapad and began to scroll as she scanned its backlit display. "I am to understand you have earned high marks in complex mathematics, advanced engineering, and tactical analysis. Do I have that correct?"

"Yes, sir," the boy beamed with pride. "The provost says I'm to be groomed for command."

"Yes, yes, very good. And is that something you want?"

"I-I, I... of course, I..." The boy simply stopped. He blinked but he didn't stammer any further. And while he kept his expression neutral and guarded... the smile had disappeared from his face.

"Come now, Cadet," the Lieutenant urged him. "Your honesty is of critical importance here. We haven't much time, and if I must order you to speak freely, I will. There will not be another chance. I need you to tell me the truth. Would you be satisfied with a command post?"

"I..." the boy took a deep breath, clearly afraid.

Sacrificing her careful nonchalance, she placed her hands on the boy's shoulders and crouched before him. His eyes widened as he gazed at her, stricken and quizzical. This line of questioning was unusual to say the least... not to mention the Lieutenant's odd behavior.

"Young man," she said to him as she smoothed her palms over the squared seams of his epaulets, "I want you to think very hard about your future. About what kind of life would bring you joy and fulfillment. I want you think about what would make you happy. If your dreams are to follow the tract of command, so be it. I will escort you back to your quarters. But if not...

"I am offering you an opportunity, and there will not be another one. I am offering you a chance to live a life of meaning. You have to make a decision."

Suddenly the boy sucked in a quick breath of surprise. His heels clicked as he slapped them together and he straightened his frame to its full height, gluing his eyes to a spot on the far wall.

"I-is this one of my exams, sir?" he asked in apprehension.

With false approval, Allerset smiled as she stepped back and stood. She raised her chin, her eyes warm and bright, but her fists were balled at her sides.

"It is," she lied. "It is a trial of honesty. Only you can decide which direction your path will take. It is up to you to choose."

Which Threezie knew was patently untrue. No one in the First Order ever got the luxury of a choice.

"What will happen if I give the wrong answer?" the boy asked.

"There is no wrong answer. This isn't that kind of exam."

Threezie could feel cold sweat roll down her spine while the boy stood chewing his lip and squirming in his shoes, only being asked to contemplate the entire rest of his life, and what shape it would take. If they stood there much longer, someone was bound to come asking questions, or start vocally lodging complaints. She could even feel Tom, still as a board beside her, glace nervously out onto the hangar bay deck from time to time. They only had minutes before they would begin to draw attention. The suspense was becoming insufferable.

"Well, I..." the boy said, "if I could have my way, sir, if it please you, I..." He gulped and summoned the confidence to continue. "The, uh... the truth is... I-I really would much prefer a post in R&D, or even robotics... I'm good at math, and I like working with the droids."

Allerset's lips quivered a moment as she clamped down on her professionalism and suppressed the tiny bloom of a smile.

"Very well." At last, the wheels were now in motion. "Then you must do exactly as I tell you.

"You are to remain hidden inside of that cart until these two officers summon you, do you understand me? You are to ask no questions. You are to alert no one to your position, and you are to tell no one your name outside of a man named Omar Entero. These officers will take you to him, and do not ask them their names - they will not tell you. The use of familial names is to be strictly prohibited. Which means you must accompany them at all times. If you lose them, you will not be able to find them again. Is that understood?"

Threezie found herself nodding in spite of not having been directly addressed.

"When you reach your destination, your..." The Lieutenant dropped her chin to her chest for a moment, gathering herself and steadying her voice before she spoke again. Even then, what came out wasn't much more than a whisper. "Your objectives will be made more clear at that time. Now. As you were. Let's get you back into that cart, yes?"

"But -"

"No questions," she barked sharply, holding up a finger. "You have your orders, Cadet. Let's go."

"Do you know anyone named Omar?" Threezie hissed at Tom out of the corner of her mouth.

"Sure don't..."

Nonetheless, she remained at attention until the Lieutenant had stuffed the boy back into his hiding place. She couldn't, however, keep her confusion from screwing up her face upon the woman's return. But there was no time. The instant Allerset rejoined them, she thrust a square, metal object into her hand hard enough to be stabbed by its corners. Rather than wince, Threezie upturned it instead to inspect it. It was a small controlling device with a few nominal buttons.

"I don't care where you store that," the Lieutenant told her, "but place it where it can still be accessed out of sight. And quickly. Follow me."

Her fatigues, thankfully, were fitted with pockets of assorted sizes. With the controller stashed away, she turned on her heels and attended her commanding officer.

"Check there, there, and there," the Lieutenant commanded as they passed under the belly of the vehicle, pointing out exhaust ports and plasma ducts as she kept them under the guise of performing their requisite inspection. More discreetly she added, "here - to me. Come close. Cover me - alert me at once if I am seen. This should only take a second."

From inside an internal jacket pocket she produced another small device that she clamped onto the fuel line where it ran adjacent to the drive core. When she was done installing the thing into place she turned to them and stated under her breath, "This is a flow inhibitor. When you flip the switch on the hand held I gave you, it will cut the flow of plasma to the chamber. It will disrupt it with an inert bubble of radon. This will cut your engines - you'll sit dead in space."

"B-but why would we -"

"You're going to have to hijack the vehicle... unless you think they'll just take you where you need to go because you said please?"

"But where do we need to go? And who is Omar Ent... uhh, Ent...?"

"Entero. He is someone you can trust. He will help you. He is... not unknown."

"What does _that_ mean? And do we even know we can trust _you_?" Tom groused through grit teeth.

"You don't. Do you have an alternative plan you wish to share...?" she asked him in annoyance. Satisfied with his silence, however, she continued to list off her own.

"Omar Entero was last seen on Prakith in the company of the Resistance - that includes FN-2187. The sighting was officially verified by the Miners' Guild, the Prakith Port Authority, and in mission reports from one of our own squadrons. Those reports also clearly state that the Resistance team had intercepted and recovered Kylo Ren - either as a captive or a collaborator - before they left orbit.

"There has also been radio chatter that would seem to affirm that the clan of bounty hunters General Hux hired to dispose of Kylo Ren had last trailed him to Kalikori on the Talss continent of Tython. If you can hurry, you might still catch them there.

"But seek Omar Entero, and no one else. He has helped people in... in your position. He has ways. Now I made sure there were two empty carts - it's not the most comfort-"

"Wait a minute," Tom interrupted her. "That's it? Just... just cut the fuel if they don't go where we want?! How the kriff is that supposed to work?! And how are we supposed to find this Omar guy anyway?! We don't even know what he looks like! We don't even know if he would actually be able to... oh stars..." He turned a bewildered circle and rubbed at his eyes. It was typical for Tom to face his fears through anger. "We're going to die out there..."

"Well, then, by all means," Allerset tossed a hand out in front of her and lifted her nose to the air, "get yourselves back into your gear and fit for duty, and figure out how to have this baby on your own."

"She's right," Threezie tried to talk sense into him. "This is our only chance, Tom. We have to take it."

"If you're creative and resourceful," the Lieutenant continued, "you will find a way to make this work. And you'll need to be. You won't be able to convince a ship full of pompous, upper-caste Fondorians that you're worth diverting their course to Tython unless you figure out how to hijack their ship and make them. And the only head start you'll get is the one you'll have when you get to Tython - the instant you leave the Chef behind he will report you. From there you'll be hunted by the local law enforcement just as much as you will the First Order itself. From now on you'll need to have your wits about you, if you want to survive.

" _Outside_ of the Order. The choice is yours.

"Find Omar Entero. Find FN-2187. They are the best chance you'll have.

"Now go. Hide yourselves away and prepare. I doubt that I can keep them waiting any longer."

Reluctantly, Tom tugged his hand through his hair and turned to walk back toward the open mouth of the cargo bay. But there was one more thing Threezie wanted to know.

"Lieutenant," she called softly. Allerset only stopped and turned at the waist. "What would you have done if the boy had told you he wanted to follow the tract of command?"

And for the first time the woman allowed herself to truly smile, the pink in her cheeks a rosy sea dotted with tawny little island freckles. Once more she tucked her hand into her internal jacket pocked and retrieved what appeared to be a small syringe.

A tranquilizer.

"If you're creative and resourceful," she said one last time, putting the thing back where it belonged, "you'll find a way to make this work. Godspeed. And may the Force be with you."

* * *

MANDO: cyar'ika - "sweetheart"

cu'bikad - a type of mandalorian game

di'kut - idiot


	20. Ch 20: Honor and Duty

**Chapter Twenty: Honor and Duty**

There were many who thought Moff Reardon had gone mad when he'd accepted a posting on Hoth with such readiness. Even one of his closest colleagues had been quick to remind him that people needed sunlight - they couldn't spend their lives underground, holed up in heated bunkers. And the pursuit of natural sunlight on that frigid hellscape would cost you a layer of skin, lost to immediate dessication before it was scoured away on harsh winds riddled with tiny shards of ice. If the cabin fever didn't strip one's sanity down to its final mewling throes, then the bleak and soulcrushing absence of any color other than white would most certainly do the trick. Either that or the near constant howling - savage gales whipping over frozen peaks and glaciers with wailing tones that would make one hear voices at all hours of the day or night... even in their sleep.

In essence, there was only one kind of person who craved a post in such a wretched and inhospitable place... someone who also had the will and the mental fortitude to withstand it.

And that kind of person was savvy.

Moff Reardon came from a very proud and esteemed Imperial family - one that made a posting on Hoth seem like an attempt to besmirch an otherwise unblemished military legacy. But few understood what happened when accolades for successful accomplishments dragged men too close to the Seat of the Order. Time had a way of erasing the memory of what it was truly like to face the dark side of the Force. It was very much like flying too close to a star. It was brilliant and magnetic, and it was easy to succumb to the gravitational pull of such absolute power. Power like that could do amazing things, make the impossible seem possible. It made men flock to it like moths to a flame, eager to break their backs for any shred of that sort of praise. But like a star... like a flame...

It burned. And it killed.

Which was why Moff Reardon loved Hoth. He loved the clean, anaerobic cold. He felt safe and healthy in that sterile environment. He found comfort in the omnipresent twinned harmony between the drone of the heat pumps and the whirs of the laboratory machinery. But most of all he was happy to be doing important work - loyal, critical work for the benefit of his great Order - from that marginal and oft-forgotten wasteland where his labors, if ever recognized at all, could be recognized from a great and terribly uninviting distance. And, hopefully, with as much anonymity as possible.

Which was why he was so thankful now that he'd never married. Not that there hadn't been several contracts on the table for him, and some of those offers had been quite attractive... as far as the very businesslike manner of mating within the ranks of the First Order went. But within weeks after unpacking his foot locker within the subterranean confines of his new post, the proposals thankfully had begun to dry up. Hoth was no place for a family.

Drawing recognition from the upper echelon of the First Order political structure was no place for a family.

Standing next to your Supreme Leader, working on a project that would design the fate of the entire galaxy was... no place for a family. Let alone a man like Moff Reardon.

The top was a very troublesome place to be. And a man who chose a posting on Hoth had a greater chance of living a longer and more fulfilling life than one who worked at the top... alongside an artifact as arcane and mysterious and dangerous as the Infinite Engine.

And the madman who wielded it.

Even at the dawn of the day Supreme Leader Armitage Hux had already been pacing the lines of his yawning and overtaxed research workers, accosting them while using his kerchief to blot away at a jaundiced brow that had grown waxy and sickly - pale even beyond what was considered normal for a complexion such as his. His eyes were ringed and red with the telltale signs of sleeplessness, but his mannerisms were otherwise energetic and intense, like those of a man possessed. And for all they knew, he was.

Reardon would never have had to have faced a man like this on Hoth... at least not for long. Men who slipped into this sort of state either shipped out, wound up in Medical, or... they followed the siren song of the aurora, bewitched across the moonlit plains of the wintry wild, never to be seen again. Reardon knew how to survive Hoth, but he didn't know how to survive a man like Armitage Hux. So, he did the only thing he knew how to do - he performed his duties to the best of his capability and he followed his orders to the very letter of his rank.

He'd arrived promptly at the very stroke of the beginning of his shift, and not a second too soon. He'd only just replaced his datapad to his jacket pocket and stepped out of the lift when he saw one of his subordinates being pulled away from his console to be shoved and pinned to the far wall by the scruff of his collar, held in place by a pair of red, faceless Praetorians brandishing fearsome, buzzing weapons for no reason at all other than to intimidate an unarmed man. And the Supreme Leader was there, feigning indifference with his hands calmly folded behind his back while he breathed down the young man's neck like he'd just caught the scent of blood in the water.

The scene was a classic Imperial caricature and everything Moff Reardon had spent his career trying to avoid.

"Now do tell me, and please be honest," the General drawled, the danger in his voice as smooth as satin over a razor blade, "just how many other designs have you allowed to distract you from -"

"My lord," Reardon called against his better judgment. "If I could beg your pardon, I do believe I am very likely the man you are looking for." He stopped and clicked his heels together, resolute. If he could withstand an ice storm on only a week's worth of rations, holed up in Hoth's famous starship graveyard, then it was likely he could withstand this storm as well. "I am happy to provide you with whatever information you require."

"What I require is an explanation," the General replied, for all intents and purposes appearing slightly mollifed by the arrival of the head of Research and Development. But Reardon knew better. The way the man tugged too stiffly at the hem of his jacket as he rounded the aisle to make his approach spoke volumes of his mental state. So did the way Lieutenant Allerset had her nose practically pressed against the display screen of her datapad, tuning out the world around her as if the words there provided her some sort of safe haven.

And all the time there was the hum. That relentless, monotonous, sinister, and nauseating hum. The hum that came from behind the door that no one was allowed to enter. Only a man from Hoth could hear the threat in that malefic, intoxicating drone. How it beckoned and it tantalized. It whispered words in languages as old as the universe. It promised a power that overextended the limits of a frail mortal shell. The only promise it could keep was madness. Like this.

"Let him go," the Supreme Leader sniveled at his guards with the flourish of one hand on a limp wrist. "Lieutenant, bring up the larger screen, if you would please."

The array of wall-mounted display screens behind her flashed and blinked to life, working together to give mosaic form to an evolutionary path - a story told through a series of different designs, from one plan to another, that the General clearly did not understand.

"I had thought the instructions I'd given were succinct," Hux said as he gestured to make reference to the images on the screens. He kept one hand aloft and the other wrapped around his waist as he stalked the line of consoles while the wide-eyed workers behind them did their best to avoid direct eye contact. The way he casually kept his back to his department head was an attempt to make himself seem bigger and more important... even though physically Reardon was a good head taller than him. "The objective was quite plain, was it not? I gave you one goal: omit one simple exhaust port. So I don't understand - what is all of this?"

"An attempt to do just that, my lord, and more."

"Hmm. While I admire the initiative, Reardon, we do not have the time to waste on overachievement. We have shifted the balance of this war, and we must expect counter strike at any moment. I cannot abide by fruitless ventures and frivolities, this absolutely must -"

"If I may be so bold," Reardon interjected, earning himself the glare of death from a man who would have no issue carrying out such a swift sentence, "perhaps I could describe to you what these are, and what moves we have made to reach your target objective."

He now had General Hux's full attention. The man pivoted to face him, his chin lifted high and one brow cocked with a look of lurid skepticism.

"Go on."

"Here," Reardon began as he strode quickly to meet Allerset's shoulder, taking the datapad from her to assume control of the displays. A few quick gestures across the touch screen allowed him to place the designs in chronological order. He started with the first. "This one here. We immediately ran into difficulty removing the exhaust port from the original design. It was originally implemented to vent the power core and prevent radiation sickness in the staff who worked there, and the troops who patrolled it."

"Could the core not have simply been staffed by droids?" the General snapped, twirling his hand in the air. "Could those duties not, instead, have been put on automation?"

"We had considered that, my lord, particularly as a matter of expediency, but simply removing the thing also ended up converting the station itself into nothing more than a plugged, floating bomb... which we felt presented us with a far more exploitable weakness.

"Which leads us to this next design," he said, switching the focus to the next plan. "We felt it might perhaps be more prudent to adopt a strategy similar to that of the Starkiller, which diverted power from an external source. A system star, to be precise. That sort of reallocation would allow us to not only fully enclose the core, but also devote the space to housing systems that would provide necessary shielding to the ion plasma transfer interface and also to the laser emitter itself."

"This is perfect," Hux replied rather candidly - more so than Reardon would have expected. "Why wasn't I alerted with this progress?"

"Because, my lord, and I beg your forgiveness, but this design still would not have met your satisfaction. You see, an implementation such as this is wholly dependent on surface area. Put simply, the Starkiller was a far bigger object than what was depicted in these old Death Star plans. Because the Death Star was more compact, its architecture not only allowed it to power and fire its own weapon based purely upon the capabilities of its own engine, but it was also much more mobile. It took its power source with it wherever it went, and could be brought into firing range under its own mobility.

"But the Starkiller was no mere station, and for a reason. It was an entire commandeered planet. Cored, machined, and weaponized. A planet was the obvious solution at the time because a massive surface area was required in order to draw the power it needed to fire its weapon. It was collected from its star through a network of nodes that dotted the planet's surface, which you can see here, here, and here. It was as cost-effective as it was efficient but it also proved self-defeating." He clicked once to zoom in on the thermal oscillator, located deep within the planet's core. "The conversion period from quintessence to phantom energy required an undesirable amount of time. Not to mention, the efficacy of its shields while firing its weapon was always viewed as dubious, without needing to bring up any other obvious flaws in the operation of its shields. And then there was the simple fact that the thing was more or less utterly immobile, wholly reliant on its proximity to the star that powered it.

"Because it was a stationary object, its laser emitter demanded more precision than a mobile station. You would have to hit your target from across the entire galaxy. You, presumably, would also need to wait for a number of celestial objects to be in alignment. That was the first part of the conundrum we faced. The rest is that the original Death Star station was never going to have the proper surface area needed to draw an adequate amount of power to fire its weaponry and attain a level of devastation that was more than laughable. In essence, a hybrid of the two was a clumsy -"

"It sounds to me that a hybrid of the two was only limited by size," the General spat with curt exasperation. "Good gracious, man, you're an engineer with an infinite supply of resources at his disposal - why not simply make the thing _bigger_?!"

"Mobility would still have been an issue, my lord."

"I'm not interested in mobility when I can make an entire fleet of these things!"

"Which is a point that came up numerous times in our discussions," Reardon affirmed as he clicked a few more designs into view. "And that lead us here.

"There were two recurring themes that kept popping up over and over - size, and the efficiency of using a star for power. Which made us ask ourselves - why not just use the star? Forget about stations and planets. It was time to open ourselves to other solutions. And that's when the answer began to stare us in the face.

"What you see in this design is called an Oggurobb Sphere, named for the scientist who invented the hypothetical structure, millennia ago. As you can see, the thing is massive enough to encompass the greater bulk of a star. In doing so, it is able to collect a literal stellar amount of quintessence - so much that phantom enery can be converted and stored in banks to be used at a moment's notice, drastically reducing the amount of time needed to fire the weapon.

"And, perhaps most interestingly I might add, this design has no need for protective shields."

At this, General Hux began to relax his stance. One hand was still clamped tightly to his waist, but the one he'd held free was brought to his chin as he leaned on one leg and stared inquisitively up at the display screen before him. Reardon started to feel a bit better about the odds that no one would need to die today.

"Yes, that _is_ interesting," the Supreme Leader whispered in awe.

"Yes. Well, at least externally. You see, the only shields this design would require are internal, to protect its staff, even if they are inorganic. In fact, particularly if they are inorganic, for the same reason this design is so impregnable. If under duress, it has the capability to produce solar flare, rendering any attacking vessel completely inoperable before it would ever enter into firing range."

"Ahh! Fantastic!"

"Yes. Hence the need for internal shielding. That kind of radiation is not only deadly for organic beings, but can interrupt the circuitry of droids and ships alike. We would need powerful magnets, but I think we could make it work."

"This is brilliant!"

"You're too kind, my lord. But there's even greater beauty to this design. With enough of these built, we could successfully siphon enough energy to power the whole of the First Order and its designated core worlds for years to come. Not just ships and weaponry, my lord, but farms and social infrastructure. _Real_ order, sir."

"Hmpf," the General laughed with derision. "Farms and social infrastructure... my predecessor would have loved you."

"We were continuing to work under this premise when our models began to predict other problems that needed to be addressed, however... which leads us to this last design."

Slowly and proudly, and with the press of a single button, Moff Reardon brought into view his crowning achievement. Even now it was so perfect and so lovely to behold that he could scarcely imagine what it would be like to look upon it in reality, outside the tinted lens of his own imagination.

"Predictive analysis began to warn us that, while the sphere would be capable of collecting an unimaginable amount of energy over the course of its lifetime, the solar radiation it blocked by simply presenting itself a non-transparent obstacle would result in an adverse affect on the ecosystems of the planets that orbited the star. You would see this result in diminished returns on resources and potential loss of life, my lord.

"And then, of course, there is the question of building a structure as impossibly massive as an Oggurobb Sphere. While you've assured me that the raw materials required are of no consequence... what we do find to be a limiting factor is time. Something like that - something that grand - would take absolute ages to build. Just one. And as you said, we can expect a counter strike at any moment."

"Yes, yes, man - cut to the chase. What am I looking at?!"

The hum behind the door tugged at his ears, calling the way a mother would cry for her kits. It buzzed with the intesity of a swarm streaking desperately through the sky to escape a rolling squall line. Reardon could practically watch it's low, rumbling vibrations pulse beneath the skin of his Supreme Leader, drawing another bead of sweat to his temple as if he was nothing more than a puppet. The General gulped down his impatience as his kerchief once more made an appearance.

"This is what I hope will be our final revision, my lord," Moff Reardon told him. "A ring." Slowly turning on the screen the way it did, shining sweetly with the delicate reflections of glittering starlight, it looked as enchanting and exquisite as something that belonged on a lady's finger. "It has all of the same capabilities as the sphere, and carries all of the same benefits. But because of it's shape, the impact it would have on the surrounding ecosystem is projected to be negligible.

"And it could be constructed in a fraction of the time. We only need to finalize these plans, my lord. There's a handful of simulations we still need to run. But then you only need say the word, and we can start rolling these into the production phase of the project."

"Magnificent," the Supreme Leader growled through teeth clamped ferociously onto the corner of his sodden, sweat-dampened kerchief. He gave the thing one more pass over his face before he stuffed it out of sight and turned to retreat from the line of consoles. "Finish your simulations then. I will grant you the next three hours. Lieutenant, with me."

Reardon released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, and he felt a tiny bunch of tension bound between his shoulderblades finally start to release as he watched the frightful red Praetorians turn a crisp about face to follow. There would still be droids to design and modifications to make to their new satellite listening posts, if they were to act as programming relays. He felt confident his work on the Vindicator, held closely under the nose of his Supreme Leader, was beginning to come to a quite thankful close. He could almost feel the cold of Hoth numbing his nose and cheeks...

"Oh, one more thing Reardon," the General called to him as Lieutenant Allerset brushed past him to join her commanding officer per his request. "What do you wish to call this thing?"

"I..." Reardon stammered. Catchy nomenclature was not his strong suit. Typically he left his creativity on the drafting board. He'd honestly expected the General would have considered the honor of officially dubbing the thing to be his own priviledge. "Well, I... I couldn't begin to guess, my lord. S-some of my staff have taken to calling it the Terminal Meridian."

"Hah, clever," the man sneered, his upturned grin twisting into something wolfish and carnal. "I like it. Carry on."

Reardon intended to do just that... but hesitated as he watched his Supreme Leader approach the forbidden door on the far side of the laboratory. The man halted at the threshold to convey his wishes to the MK designation droids positioned on either side of the portal. Whispers that no one else could hear.

The man inspired no confidence. Which wasn't to say he was no inspiration at all... only that the feelings he did inspire were probably best considered derogatory. There was a time when General Armitage Hux was never seen far from the helm of his people. There was a time when the man exhibited an unparalleled strength of will and clarity of vision - there was a time when the man was the categorical ideal of an Imperial officer. A time when he used to exemplify honor and duty, and all of the base tenets the Order held so dear. He was once a man that placed significance and value on the scientific and technological advancement of his people... for the benefit of all.

For the good and benefit of mankind.

But something dark had crept in... low like a mist that seeped beneath the door. Something insidious, something single-minded. A perversion. A curse. A predator that held him hooked with tooth and claw - one that might never let go. It placed men like Moff Reardon in the unenviable position between integrity and corruption. It made savvy men seem cowardly. It made him fantasize about taking action, making change... when really he only wished to slink back to the safe and dreary, artic embrace of Hoth.

So... Moff Reardon turned his back to the man and returned to his work. He slipped beneath the waves of his ebbing sense of morality, and sunk deep into the refuge of apathy and complicity. Plausible deniability. And he did his best not to listen to the instructions the General gave Lieutenant Allerset before he sequestered himself once more behind the door... to once again fall victim to isolation as he gave in to commune with the dark forces residing within.

"The soldiers reported missing... you said they were from the Ninth Imperial, did you not?"

"Yes, sir, that is correct," she answered him benignly.

"Good, good. Bring me their commanding officer, and the next two in rank. See that they are brought to me here. I wish to..." the man paused for a moment, and Moff Reardon did not look to see why. "I wish to interrogate them myself."

"At once, my lord."

Moff Reardon stared ahead at the mathematical formula on the view screen before him, and he watched the slowly animated vector it plotted take its form. He replayed the calculation over and over and over, but the information it portrayed could never sink in. Instead, his mind was light years away... skirling like a snowflake on the frigid winds of Hoth. There was no despotic, hierarchical minefield on Hoth - just ice and snow and rock and sky. There was a freedom in its simplicity that he longed for.

And he feared he would never see it again.

* * *

Running. It was all she could do. It was all she had. If it weren't for the dread... if it weren't for the desperation, the guilt... it would have felt so good. She could have poured everything out of her through those legs, a lifetime of devastation, of immaterial hopes, of broken promises and betrayal. A lifetime of solitude, of abuse, of rejection. And now... this.

It wasn't just the fates of the innocents on that ship in orbit that hung in the balance - that hung on her ability to keep making hard decisions, keep finding strength when she only wanted to crumble... to keep sacrificing her needs and her wishes for the benefit of others...

It was for the whole of a galaxy. It was for honor and duty.

Parades of old ghosts flew by Rey so quickly as she ran that they blended into one long, misty blur like a cloud bank sifting through the stands of old, dark tree trunks. She tried to hurdle a swatch of brambles and ended up snagging her pants. She stubbed her toe on a rock she'd kicked away from its ancient resting place. Rotting logs and low chunks of walls, clumps of weeds and abandoned animal warrens - everything tried to trip her, tried to catch her, tried to make her stumble, make her stop, but those legs kept right on pumping, fueled by the freedom of righteous fury.

Even if Sonora Deshra kept her promise - even if the marauding barbarians that held their ship hostage were setting sail from their hangar bay this very instant, even if Chewie could make a drop on their position somewhere within the vicinity of the next fifteen minutes... anything could happen. They could be light years away. They could jump Ben Solo halfway across the galaxy. If he wasn't dead already. There was a limit on how far away that beacon could still be reliably read, and Rey knew that every minute that passed tested that limit further and further and further.

And she knew she shouldn't care. She knew this was why the Jedi forbade attachments. She knew that every word that Sonora Deshra had said was true. Armitage Hux wanted Ben Solo dead. Hoersh-Kessel and Killian Arms wanted Ben Solo dead. The Exchange Syndicate, the Hutt Cartel... Kuat-Entralla and Czerka and Genetech... The Freebooter's Trade Union, the Spicers' Guild, the Miners' Guild on Prakith and now roving bands of bounty hunters - all of them had a price on his head. All of them found value in watching his blood soak the dirt.

And it was a knife to her gut to know that even she, the closest facsimile to a friend that Ben Solo had likely ever known, as he was certainly quite singular to her as well in all of the universe... even she had a price she was willing to pay.

And that price was protecting innocence. Honor. And duty.

Knowing that didn't make the sin of condemning him sit in her belly any better.

So she focused on the path ahead... or the dim, perilous lack of one. As she squinted to try to make out hazards in the low, wan glow of moonlight, she tried to picture the faces of the sweet babies she hoped were safe and sound in the meager custody of Chewbacca and Lena Entero. She pictured Kaia, with her chubby cheeks and hazel eyes, hands on her hips like a princess or a future politician. The skeptical know-it-all. Leia would have loved her. Her brother Bo came next to mind, funny and inquisitive, toothless and brave. So very much the potential jovial Jedi.

And Ali. So strong, and so scared. Burdened by sorrow and displacement, the weight of it too heavy for someone his age, but the wisdom he possessed beyond his years could not manage to let it go. Rey and Ben both saw so much of themselves in Ali, in all of those children, really. She felt certain Ben Solo would have made the same choice.

Her train of thought came crashing to an immediate halt the instant she ducked beneath the low overhang of a dilapidated archway, the same one she'd originally crossed to leave the courtyard. The air in her left as a sudden cry when her nose crunched against the leather-clad breast bone of her best friend, Finn.

"Woah, hey, I've got you, I've got you - we've been looking for -"

"We have to go, Finn!" she sobbed at him urgently as she gripped him by both shoulders. "They've got them - the children! They're on the ship!"

"We know," he answered as he turned and they began to run alongside each other. "We couldn't get Chewie to answer our hails and when he did it sounded really - wait. Where's Ren?"

They both stopped as Finn circled around in bewilderment. And when he saw her face, she watched his face change too. A dour mix of confusion and cold, hard comprehension.

And it just bubbled out of her. She couldn't keep it down. She'd swallowed so much in her life, choked on so much grief and anger and sadness and unfairness her throat was chafed and raw. It just burst from her this time.

"They got him," she cried. "I..." she squeezed her hands into tight fists, to crush them like the completely useless instruments they were. "I let them have him. I gave him to them. I..."

"It's okay," Finn told her with a tone that would maybe have comforted her if they'd had more time. Maybe. "We gotta hurry. We can take the Zephyr into the ruins - Poe thinks his ship might be off in that dir-"

"No, it's gone," Rey cried, raking her fingers through her hair and twisting it into knots. "Sonora Deshra took Ben Solo and she took our ship. Finn... it's useless! We're landlocked! How are we gonna -"

"No, no, it's okay, it's okay, shh..." he soothed as he placed his hands on her shoulders once more. He gave them a little push. "It's alright. We'll think of something. We always do."

She clamped her eyes shut but turned her face to the heavens. She wanted to do more than cry. She wanted to fight. She wanted to scream. She wanted to choke the life out of something. She wanted to rip something apart with her bare hands. And in that moment she was afraid of what she might do. But compared with selling her soul to their enemy - their _real_ enemy - why shouldn't she entertain a brief, benign flirtation with the darkness within her? If it promised her a power she desperately needed right now?

She filled her lungs to the aching point with sharp, cold mountain air and she held it until it began to burn. When she released it, she opened her eyes to gaze up at the stars, and she took herself back to that moment where they'd once hung amongst the stars over Churruma. To that moment when Ben Solo told her they couldn't see each other again - when he'd affirmed to her that fate or the universe or the Force or whatever certainly would not allow their paths to coincide.

She still believed that was absolute rubbish. But it did make her think of something. An idea as unethical as it was illegal.

"Finn," she breathed, exhaling a warm shroud of mist. She placed her hands atop the same arms that still held her by the shoulders. "We're going to have to steal another ship, Finn."

"Yeah," he laughed, more out of resignation than humor. "Yeah... I kinda thought we might have to. Poe's right. We are starting a weird collection."

"How are we going to get Poe to agree to this?" Rey asked her friend as they both turned to jog once more toward the campfire in the main courtyard. "He's our general now... if something like this is made public..."

"I don't see that he has much of a choice. Even if we were able to contact the base on Arturo - even if Maz was able to -"

"I don't want any more of Maz's help."

"I'm just saying... we'd have to wait. And we can't wait."

"What about Omar? I'm sure he's not going to be too thrilled by the thought of -"

"Rey, the man's daughter is on that ship. Right now he's mentally calculating how long he can hold his breath in open space if he somehow manages to get the Zephyr to reach terminal velocity..."

"Well, then we better get the Zephyr pointed toward Kalikori Town before he does anything stupid."

"Rey," Finn laughed once more as he slowed his pace upon approaching the campfire, "you're, uh... you're coming with us this time, right?"

"Hehe, yes," she answered him, her spirits lifting with the mere suggestion of a plan for action, "yes I am. You'll need me this time.

"There's something I'll have to do."

* * *

Kylo Ren awoke to the feeling of movement, but that could have been the contraction of the flesh beneath his skin. Every muscle in his body had seized. His teeth were grinding together and his limbs were rigid and immobile. Static sparked black and white behind his eyelids, but he could scarcely bring himself to open them.

And yet the situation carried no feeling of newness or urgency. Quite the opposite - this was a sensation that he was unfortunately very well acquainted with, having been conditioned to withstand it so harshly through years and years of repeated use. It was the utensil that had been used to teach him how to draw power from pain, how to find fuel in rage. It was the knife that had been used to carve away his useless attachments from their weak points, leaving nothing behind but numb obedience and a blind commitment to a cause that was nothing more than a degrading lie. It was the thing that had left Ben Solo a fading whisper of memory in the back of his mind, heard only in dreams.

It was a non-lethal and prolonged form of electrocution. And that's when he understood.

He was being restrained by an electronet.

Mandalorians. There had been a fight... yes. Yes, he remembered that now. Sonora Deshra.

Sonora Deshra may have thought she could use a device like this to contain him. But Sonora Deshra had never studied as an apprentice under the strong and unforgiving arm of Supreme Leader Snoke, whose liberal use of Force lightning was the reason Kylo Ren still had the thick skin, fast reflexes, and mental prowess he still employed today, even in his current state. Kylo Ren could retreat and sink his mind into the numb cocoon of the Force - a place where he still had claws and teeth. A place where he still had power. If he could get himself centered and calm... he could perhaps attempt to open his eyes to start to search for the damned controls for this cursed thing.

There was a way out, there had to be. If the bounty hunter was stupid enough to incapacitate him yet leave him alive, then there was a way out.

It would be so easy for an untrained mind to allow its imagination to roam free at a time like this - easy to allow panic to feed one images of live wires singing clothing, blackening exposed skin, or crackling dangerously against the metal of redundant and unnecessary stun cuffs. And while the voltage was enough to make these outcomes seem feasible with his eyes still firmly pressed shut, his logical brain knew, rationally, that no such thing was happening. He made himself listen to reason, he allowed no breach in his concentration on this, and he opened his other senses to his surroundings.

"No," was the first thing he heard, reaching out with his mind to touch the walls, the floor, the ceiling, and all of the shapes in between. "No, that's not how deals work. You don't get to call all the shots here - there's supply and there's demand, give and take. It's only a deal when both sides agree. Now, I have the bounty, and you have my terms, which I think are both attractive and f-"

He couldn't hear the voice that interrupted her. At least... not with his own ears, from across their enclosure. But he could feel it, like a pounding between his eardrums, close to the place where his bond with Rey of Jakku lived. Close enough to rattle that silver thread like a chain. It drummed across the plane of the Force. The words it spoke were indistinct, but the feeling it purveyed was not. It was a dreadful menace - a strange singularity of frightening power. A power like his and yet so different. There was something terrifying and alien to it, something not of the known galaxy... and yet it was familiar. It shook him to his core.

"Yes, I understand that. There isn't a better deal on the table for him right now," Sonora Deshra replied to her unseen business partner, "and I get how far you've traveled, alright? We've all traveled. But I need you to understand my position. It's the only reason my counter offer is so low. Money isn't my only motivator h... yes, yes I... I understand, but... Look, you don't need to explain the risks to me - I've made a living driving those up risks. People try to low-ball me all the time. But I can guarantee you that's not gonna work here."

The air was clean, cool, and dry, but lacked the earthy tincture of the mountains. In fact, it lacked any landmark signature at all - it had been rendered completely sterile and wholly devoid of smell whatsoever outside of the lingering aroma of the lumpy vinyl bench he assumed he'd been stretched out upon. So... his surrounding climate was manufactured, then - this could only have meant that he was inside of a ship.

In space it was impossible to detect movement due to the lack of friction and, of course, the artificially imposed gravity. It was, however, possible to feel the rumblings of a ship's acting hyperdrives, taxed while they performed their labor. But this ship was eerily quiet. Which meant they were either hovering over the planet locked in a cozy, lazy orbit, or... they'd never left the ground in the first place.

"Look. We both know I have what you want. And we both know you aren't gonna back out on this deal. This doesn't have to get ugly. I'm just asking for a little timing, nothing more. You wanna re-negotiate my commission? Fine. I don't care. But I'm not budging until I get in contact with my clan, and that's the deal or no deal."

Wait. He thought... wasn't...? Wasn't the deal on him _dead_ or no deal? Why was he even alive? Did it mean that this new buyer simply wanted the pleasure of committing his murder him themselves? Or had the deal changed while he was asleep? He fought against mounting unease to remain slow, calm, present, and methodical.

He knew his captor was nearby, but not immediately next to him. And though he was skilled at close combat, he was foremost a trained swordsman, which put him at a greater advantage when he had distance on his foe. It was an advantage he fully intended to make the most of, if he could just keep his breath even and carefully measured, and keep convincing his muscles to accept this nostalgic, old abuse and absorb the shock of the electronet. If he could just gulp down the sickening feeling of succumbing to old habits... one last time. Hopefully one last time. He counted the seconds between breaths and he matched them with each pump of his heartbeat. And when he achieved what he felt was a steady, sufficiently meditative rhythm, he risked peeking open one eyelid.

"Of course I'm aware of the terms of their deal, but I don't... no, it has nothing to do with... Oh for kriff's sake! I don't give a womprat's hairy brown ass about what kind of deal they made! This has nothing to do with their deal! This is _our_ deal!"

Bright light stabbed at that tiny sliver of exposed eye, quickly stinging it and making it water. As the sweep of his blinking eyelashes gathered away the moisture, he began to see more clearly. To his surprise, the visual assault hadn't been caused by the brilliant arcing energy of the electronet, but instead by the airy, golden streaks of sunlight blazing through the viewport of the craft, magnified and refracted in the only way that solar radiation can be when bounced between the surface of a planet and the grip of its enveloping atmosphere. Having spent the past six or seven years of his life sequestered in starships in the dark vacuum of space, he knew that light from a nearby star could only be this bright if they were still on the ground.

He had no idea how long he'd been unconscious. He could be anywhere in the galaxy. But he was willing to bet real money they'd never even left Tython. Maybe not even the old Jedi temple outside of Kalikori.

Upon his first cursory glance, he found he recognized the color scheme painted on the walls of the ship and the insignias embroidered into the cloth covering the seats in the cockpit. He'd marched the halls of ships like these before, reigning terror and taking no prisoners. He'd shattered ships like these, sending pieces of them to scatter across the cosmos. He knew the darker pigment, a bold and heavy shade of crimson, was one of his mother's favorite colors, believing it to convey a sense of strength and resolve. This ship was practically smothered by his mother's spirit - she was stuffed into every nook and cranny of it. He could feel her like a soft blanket. It tugged at him with an unbidden pang of sorrow.

This was a Resistance ship. This was Poe Dameron's last good transport ship after the assault on Crait. For all he knew, his mother had, at one time not long ago, sat in the very seat where his body was currently inelegantly draped. The thought put a strange flutter in his belly. He was thoroughly postive, so universally despised as he was throughout the galaxy, that no one was coming to his rescue outside of interested parties who sought to profit from his overdue demise.

But the Resistance would come looking for their ship, if they wanted to get off of the planet. He may have held no marketable use for them, but even if they took the ship and left him behind they would provide him an escape from his present circumstance. It was a chance to go into hiding and plan his next moves.

They were his only hope.

"You know, I really don't think I'm asking for anything unreasonable here. My people have a saying: 'patience is cheaper than mistakes.' If you were smart, you'd really... huh? What? What do you mean, he's awake? How could you possibly know th - wait! No, don't you dare-! Wait! Dammit!"

Sonora Deshra pounded one fist down onto the console before she whipped around in her seat to face him. He expected her to leap to her feet, race to her weapon or draw another tranquilizer from her belt. Instead she only sighed and slumped forward in her chair, mopping one hand over a face that had grown pale from injury and exhaustion.

Such a hesitation in the presence of a power like his was stupid and potentially fatal. But she didn't strike him as a stupid woman. Hasty, perhaps. But driven by hard-earned life experience. His curiosity was piqued.

" Hmpf," she scoffed at him, bouncing her shoulders once. "You gonna snap my neck with your mind? Is that what your little jetii girlfriend said? Know what? Don't answer that. Just listen. Right now I'm trying to save all of those little kids you're carting around on that ship up there. Yeah, that's right. I know about them." Her tongue made a quick apperance as she smiled and pushed it between the gap in her front teeth. "If they mean anything to you, then you'll play nice. Otherwise, you're an honorless chakaaryc that's not worth the bounty, and I'll be happy to let my clan dispose of your worthless hide."

She stood and pressed both fists into the small of her back as she twisted at the waist for a good, long stretch.

"You're lucky, y'know. Found a buyer that's willing to pay more than I've ever seen to haul you in alive. You oughta thank me." From across the hold of the ship he audibly heard loud cracks and pops up the length of the older woman's spine. "You and me, we play our cards right, we both get something out of this. This is probably what you're lookin' for, isn't it?"

She unlatched a square, bulky vambrace from her wrist - a guess told him it likely housed the launching mechanism and the controls for his electronet. She waggled it about as it dangled from her arm, as if to entice him before she tossed it to the floor somewhere between them. With a grunt and a pop of her hip, she ambled her way across the deck to the opposite bulkhead where she found a compartment that held a small, standard-issue first aid kit.

"I trust you know what to do with that," she muttered with a casual nod of her head toward the vambrace on the floor as she rifled through the kit for a small bacta syringe. "You gonna be a good boy, or do I need to get my gun?"

He couldn't have answered her if he wanted to. His mouth was involuntarily clenched shut from the shocks that surged through his body in waves. His eyelids were spasming open and shut against his will, which made it difficult to focus and clearly make out the markings etched above the controls on the vambrace. Pushing a button wasn't the hard part - defining which button to push was. He was scared that one wrong button would turn his Bad Day into something far more... intense.

"You probably think you know everything there is to know about me," Sonora droned on as she plunged the syringe into her thigh, only serving to distract him at the worst possible time. "Probably think you've got me all figured out." She was the one who put him into this predicament. She was likely toying with him, like a cat with its prey. She likely enjoyed this. He chose not to force himself to respond, focusing his mind's eye instead on seeing past the pain. He trusted there would come a time when he could deal with her in a manner in which she deserved.

"Well, you don't. If this was just about money, you'd already be a full head shorter right about now. Bought and sold before you even woke up. Oh, for stars' sake, here."

She stomped forward the two paces required to reach the vambrace, apparently having grown bored with his discomfort.

"Thought you were supposed to be scary or something," she chided him as she pushed a button and every synapse in his body simultaneously released and relaxed, feeling hot and weirdly liquid like melted butter. The room fell darker, and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust. "There. You're just a big ik'aad, aren't you? Copikla."

Out of the dim, her face swam into view, closer than he expected. Close enough he wouldn't have needed the Force to choke the life from her. She was either very, very certain of herself, or... she held an undeniable sort of leverage over him. What was it she'd mentioned earlier? The children... on the ship. Saving them? They were in trouble? What was happening?

"Y-" he tried to ask... tried to speak at all but could only cough. His throat was raw and itchy, too cumbersome to form more than bare consonants as the thick, pasty walls of the membranes inside stuck together, constricting his air flow.

"Come on, here, sit up," she whispered to him softly and matronly, offering him a hand to help him get off of his back. The muscles in his abdomen screamed. He ached from head to toe - his entire body protested, overwrought as if he'd run a marathon. "Lemme look at you," she ordered him as she gripped his shoulders and straightened him up before he was really ready. He winced, still a bit groggy and dizzy. "Just because the deal has changed doesn't mean I wanna deal in damaged goods."

Damaged goods. Oh yes, as if he'd ever been anything else. He was the veritable textbook definition of "damaged goods." Just a commodity to toss around for personal gain. All of his life. Even now. She had no idea.

A flush of anger lit the fuse under his wits and he started to come around - he viciously batted her hands away and stood so quickly she fell backwards awkwardly onto her butt. Taking no chances, he beckoned the vambrace to fly up from the floor and land in one cuffed hand. There was no way he was going to let that sadistic little harpy get her claws on it.

"Now, just wait a minute," she started but never got to finish. A sudden tempest of Force picked her up and flung her battered body against the bulkhead as if it was nothing more than a limp pile of rags. When she looked up again, dazed, her facial expression had changed. It was the fatalistic veneer of cruel realization. It told him just how much she now understood the kind of beast she'd chosen to cage herself up with inside the belly of this ship.

"You wait a minute," he snarled at her, lifting his chin to glare at her prone form down the length of his nose. "This is my mother's ship. I grew up in these. Can fly it with my eyes closed. What I don't need is you."

"You think you have any idea how to find that freighter on your own?" she spat at him from where she'd landed.

She did make a point. His memory of the past day and a half was fuzzy, but he did recall watching the little flight deck mechanic - Rose, the one with the black, bouncy curls in her hair - shoot the tracking device off the ventral fuselage of the Silencer. It was the last thing they'd done before they'd left on the wind catamaran toward Kalikori Town. And he himself had shot the same device off of the Upsilon shuttle that filled up the other half of the giant freighter's hangar bay. The freighter was now only one in a flock of billions of other ships that traversed the 'lanes of the galaxy at large. With nothing to differentiate it from the others. But that also meant...

"You're the one who can't find it," he accused her, furrowing his eyebrows in challenge. "All I have to do is reach out to Rey through the Force - all I have to do is close my eyes and -"

"And she'll what? Lead you right to it, is that it? Stupid or'dinii, she needs _this_ ship to even get there!"

"It's amazes me how many people underestimate her. I know, it's easy to do, I've done it myself -"

"And even if she had this ship, she couldn't board the freighter - this transport is too big. I was standing right over there when we took your General captive with the intent of boarding you the first time. You've got two big First Order ships in that hangar bay taking up all the room. Only a craft as small as that catamaran will get anyone inside. Too bad she won't fare in open space."

"That doesn't make any sense, then. How the hell would any of your clan be able to -"

"The only other craft small enough are the escape pods on our Corvette. Look. Like it or not, ori'jagyc," she sighed as she pushed herself up the bulkhead to right herself into an adjacent seat, "this isn't our first hunt. And I'll give you credit where it's due - you've got a sound, tactical military mind. But you're not the only smart one on this playing field. It goes like this.

"I don't know what kind of deal the Twi'lek and Maz Kanata made inside of that shuttle, but they made a deal. And part of that deal meant that you weren't to be harmed so long as you didn't leave Tython. My clan accepted those terms in hard cash. But that deal also included a Resistance hostage and a whole lot of new ships. You guys don't cash in on any of that unless you rendevous on Takodana in two days. So that means the instant you leave for Takodana, the bounties on your head are no longer null and void. And there isn't a bounty hunter alive who wouldn't jump at the chance to double dip like that.

"They still have the hailing frequency we used to make contact with your ship the first time - the time we found Kylo Ren's personal TIE fighter sitting in our parking spot, as I believe your General'd put it. All they have to do is ping the frequency then follow it back to its source. They're planning to take that freighter by force then sit quietly and wait for your landing party to call in for a pickup. After that, it's a simple hostage exchange so long as no one does anything stupid - the lives of those kids for your lifeless body."

"There's still a crew on that ship. They'll turn off the comms before they let that happen - they'll go silent. They'll fight."

"You're absolutely right," Sonora Deshra purred in the worst way possible, crossing her arms over her chest. "And there's all of those sweet little babies up there, caught in the cross fire. Which one of 'em will they sacrifice to get your crew to turn those comms back on? See, that's where I come in. I'm trying to save them, but you and I have got to help each other out. I'm here to make you a deal. And if you still have a heart beating in that chest, it's one you won't pass up."

He reached both cuffed hands out in front of him.

"I don't make deals with -"

"You can contact your little girlfriend," she blabbered hurriedly before the Force could cinch around her throat, "sure, but if you're right and the comms are cut, she won't be able to reach that ship any more than you can. And even then, what were ya gonna do - talk 'em to death? Face it, ad'ika. I'm the only one who can make contact with my clan. I'm all you've got."

"You want me to let you sell me."

"It's more than that, okay? Look. I'm unarmed. Can we just have a moment here? A calm moment of civil conversation? There's a way out of this for both of us - for _all_ of us. I just need you to listen for a second. Be smart."

Tranquil, passionless civility and serenity of knowledge were Jedi tenets. They rubbed at him against the grain. But he was willing to use his... other training, just this once. Lives were at stake. Young, innocent ones. And in spite of the base, common perception of him he'd fought all of his life... he wasn't a monster. In spite of his readiness to just accept and admit it.

He didn't turn his back to her but instead slowly backed away, circling around the holoprojector in the middle of the floor until the backs of his thighs found a seat next to the flight console. Gentle, sunny warmth caressed his shoulders through the wide berth of the viewport. The short chain between his stun cuffs clinked like a pair of wine glasses as he hitched his pant legs to take a seat for the duration. He sat high and straight, his well muscled arms crossed over his chest, an icy prince upon his frozen throne.

"Fine then. Speak," he commanded. "But say something good. I can still take my chances without you. The Force is with me." It sounded good out loud, even if it felt false.

"Hah... the Force..." Sonora Deshra cackled as she coughed and spat. "The Force couldn't give one steaming osik heap about any of us. I don't buy it. Not you. The girl, maybe," she pointed a finger at him, "but not you. You don't believe that any more than I do. The will of the Force let a bunch of little children get captured by Mandalorians."

"You don't know anything about -"

"It's _you_ that doesn't know anything! You don't know anything about them up there, okay? You don't know anything about me! You don't know anything about the men you killed in Kalikori Town!"

"I know they were stupid enough to pick a fight they couldn't win."

It could have been the blood bruising her face, but her eyes darkened unexpectedly and in a way that made her appear wild and hungry. Pained. Lost... or even grieving. She wet her lips as she glared at him, snuffing out her hot, fierce rush of fury before she blandly chose to continue.

"Oh yeah?" she laughed with contained menace. "You think you've got the upper hand, is that it? No one's got you backed into a corner? Hah! Tell me this, ori'jagyc - where is it Sith go when they die? Why is it only Jedi ghosts get to haunt old ruins, throwing parties and pestering visitors, huh? When's the last time your grandfather had anything good to say from beyond the grave?"

The barb was personal, but he kept his face passive. He would never give her the satisfaction. He'd suffered far worse and in far greater quantities to be baited by something so lascivious and juvenile.

"Those men you killed in Kalikori?" she said. "They knew the long game. They knew the risks. They knew the reward."

"If you're going to wax poetic about dying for a handful of credits -"

"It's about honor, chakaaryc! The credits feed our babies but the hunt feeds our souls! You don't know anything about us! You don't know anything about those men! The one whose guts your jetii girlfriend put on the floor? He was my sister's son! She doesn't even know yet! This was only his second hunt - the paint on his gun was still fresh!

"The ones whose blood you put on the walls? One of them was my father's little brother. I've known him all of my life - he was more like a brother to me. He loved music... had a voice so sweet he could sing a Hutt to charity..."

"If you're looking for some kind of sympathy -"

"I'm trying to get you to listen -"

"He shot first!"

"Of course he did!" she screamed so loudly his ears rang and something wet flew from her face. "It was a hunt! He would every single time! He died for _glory_! He died for _honor_! They all did! They will be celebrated in the halls of the hunt for the rest of time until we join them," she jabbed a finger into her own chest, " _all except for me_!"

At this, her head collapsed into her hands. They shook as she threaded them through her disheveled silver mohawk, dispersing the coarse, blood-tipped strands of hair to fall wherever they pleased. She slid her fingers over her face before folding them together where they pressed at her lips. Her snide, catty humor was gone, her armor stripped away. What was left was a crumpled heap of an old woman who had lost everything... who no longer had a place in the world. Kylo Ren did his best to ignore the bitter bloom of affinity.

"You stole my glory death from me when you took me alive," she told him in a soft growl. "You made me a coward. You stole my manda."

"If it's death you're looking for..."

'I wanted that years ago... You're a handsome man - you have kids?"

The question stupefied him for a moment. The concept was so foreign and taboo that he didn't quite know how to respond. Wasn't he sort of the walking antithesis of fatherhood? Family was something he'd thought was clearly not to be considered a forte of his. And yet, putting his thoughts to voice seemed almost shameful.

"I am not allowed attachments," was all he managed to say.

"Not allowed... wha? That's the dumbest line of... really? By who? What does that even mean?"

"You know, I don't really expect you to -"

"I think I see why we don't understand each other, then." She laughed again, sounding more like a breathy, apathetic wheeze. She stood and shook her head as she slowly limped her way over to the cockpit to take a seat next to him.

"I had a son once," she admitted as she flopped down, spinning the seat until it bumped against the console. "Does that surprise you?"

"Why would it?" his infamous impatience lost its hold on his sarcasm. "You're so fond of telling me how little I know of you."

"Hmpf," she hummed, nonplussed. "Fair point. Yeah... I did."

"Which one of us murdered him?"

"Oh, no. No, none of you aruetiise get to claim that honor. Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc. Ni partayli, gar darasuum. Bewan. No... he was claimed by other battles. He was tough and strong, and so cunning... Bewan knew how to master the shadows. And he did not go alone - he took his enemy with him kicking and screaming. I knew he was gone when he didn't come home. He could never resist boasting his successes to his proud mother. I was always the first to hear his stories."

She picked a bit at her thumbnail with her teeth, carried away by wistful memory.

"I would give anything to trade places with him. I would gladly trade my life for his... to give him a chance for a wife... for children... for a legacy. There's nothing a mother wouldn't do for her son. And I know he's waiting for me. In the halls of the hunt.

"And I won't be there. Not unless I can reclaim my soul." At this she turned to him and squared him up with a calculating look. "And to do that, I need to complete my hunt. Do you understand now, aruetii? Do you understand what's at stake?"

For a brief moment, he stared at his feet and held a question to his tongue, swirling unspoken around his mouth. He internalized that question, wondering if maybe his own mother had wished that she could have traded places with him, long ago. She, too, believed she'd gone to great lengths to recover what had been lost... had even traded her own soul to do it. She had made her trade for her son. And she had let him go in the hopes she'd once again see him... someday. Safe, and whole. But her efforts had come too late. And she never saw him again.

"I suppose it's tough," Sonora sighed, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees, "if you've never held your own child to your breast."

"Your buyer wants me alive?" Ren asked, trying to fully ascertain the part he was being asked to play, trying to fully gauge the risks.

"Yes," she replied, "and they are willing to pay an obscene amount of credits to make sure no other contractors screw that up. You can have the money, I don't care. But if you will help me complete this hunt, I will make sure that no child on your ship is harmed. If that matters to you, that is." She leaned toward him and winked. "I know you're not allowed attachments."

Hah, yes. Very funny. Attachments.

Like how how much he missed his father - had missed him, long before he murdered him.

Like how much he missed his mother. And the regrets, as fine and silky as ribbons, that still tied them together.

And Ali. He couldn't stop thinking about Ali... the way the boy's tears had freely soaked his shirt when he'd made a promise to take him home to his mother. Another mother who had traded her love for her son for his safety. And while Kylo Ren lacked the strength of will to openly admit it, there was a small, secret part of him hidden in his loneliest corners that longed for absolution - the kind he could only gain through keeping a promise to a young boy who had suffered much of the same injustice he, himself, had.

And then... there was _her_. The girl who felt like the half of himself he'd given up for dead.

Rey.

Alone with him in the soft hush of night... sitting so close her heat warmed him through... the way her eyes, alive in the glow of firelight, looked into him instead of away, with none of the fear or the accusation he'd grown accustomed to seeing in others. The sound of her voice, the prospect of her touch... so magical and so undeserved, and yet so clandestinely craved. He could offer her nothing she would ever want, he was nothing she could ever need. But for him she fulfilled a need - one that had gone neglected and ignored for so... oh, so very long. He would do anything for her.

It was too late. He was attached. He was compromised. What had happened to him? What happened to his training? Where did it go? What happened to his principles? His resolution? He understood letting go of blind, ignorant faith, but had it changed him this much? His blood boiled with hypocrisy and disgrace, it bubbled within him like molten magma. The chasm within him had split even wider - what was worth opening himself up like this? The profitless risk of love? The lewd triviality of sex? These weren't concepts that appealed to him... right? Were they?

"Look, I know that's a lot to unpack, but, uh... we haven't got all day," Sonora pressed him.

The Sith of the past relished likening themselves to gods and monsters. Sith like his grandfather. But Kylo Ren would never be Darth Vader. He knew it - deep inside, he'd always known it. Because Kylo Ren was just a man. With fears and needs and desires and compassion.

He was only human.

"I'll do it," he told her. And it was like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He no longer stared at his line in the sand. This time he was going to cross it.

Because this time there was no disdainful father. There was no remorseful mother. There was no disapproving teacher. There was no abusive master. There was no so such thing as fate, there was only choice. And this one was his to make.

"Good," the woman smiled a wide, gap-toothed smile as she spun around and began dialing buttons on the console to start pre-ignition checks. He could hear the plasma emitters begin to spool up their energy. "You know, you've made a pretty girl out there real happy. She didn't want to let you go. She did it for the right reasons, but she fought for you.

"And I can see why. She's all alone, fighting a war against the whole galaxy - against a Machine that's much, much bigger than she is. Her friends think they can guard her six, but they're way out of their depth. She needs you.

"And life's too short, ad'ika," she sang to him pleasantly. "This war is dangerous. You should let yourself enjoy an attachment or two, while you still can. Death is an eternity. Don't spend it alone."

With that, the ship shuddered as it lifted into the air. The running lights burned the shadows away from the early morning forest around them. The bright HUD leapt into view and plotted the course they were to follow. And though he knew this option was better than the alternative, Kylo Ren still couldn't swallow this foul knot of impending doom.

He wasn't being marched off to certain death... but there were things that made living seem worse. His buyer was crafted from a strange, dark, mystifying power - one that Sonora Deshra couldn't feel. They obviously had some use for him.

But what could that be...? And who were they?

* * *

"This thing doesn't go any faster, does it?"

Poe was tense. Rey herself was tense. Everyone was tense. The silence would have been deafening if it hadn't been for the wind screaming in their ears.

"Poe," Rose answered with a half turn of her chin over her shoulder, "the Zephyr is faster than any land vehicle on this planet. _Nothing_ goes faster than this."

Omar Entero was uncharacteristically quiet... and pale. His bright blue eyes were wide and searching, glued to the twisting market streets ahead of them as he gripped the railing so tightly his fingertips had begun to turn purple. He hadn't said a word throughout their entire trek out of the mountains. He hadn't needed to. The tight, square cut of his bearded jaw said everything there was to say. The man had already lost a wife. His daughter was all he had left in the world. And now her life hung in the balance. Rey could almost watch the saga of his grief play out in his eyes, scene by scene. Without a second thought, she rose to take a seat next to him. She took his hand in hers and allowed him to squeeze it as hard as he needed to. She, herself, felt very adrift as well. Perhaps they could be an anchor for each other.

"We're almost to the port," she reassured him. "We're almost there."

"I should be there," he hissed through a strained whisper. "Should never have left her."

"We knew when we came here that we were walking into a trap," she told him. "We needed a medic. And there wasn't any reason to believe that leaving her behind on that ship wasn't the safest, most responsible choice."

The man only swallowed hard and nodded, but it was no consolation. He kept his eyes on the road even as they began to well with a thin line of tears.

"We should make a plan," Finn stated, businesslike. "This isn't like the last time, when we were putting the screws to the First Order. There's a lot of ways this can go south."

"There's no need to do anything hasty," Maz answered him. "When we reach the port, we'll just need a few moments to get the lay of the land, and see who is coming and going. I'm certain I'll have some sort of contact there."

"Tython isn't known for being a trade port," Poe reminded her, unconvinced. "It's a pastoral planet - it's better known for history and ancient ruins than marketplaces and trade. We need a very real plan B."

"We really have to do this, don't we? We're just going to... stick our guns in someone's face and hijack a ship full of innocent people, aren't we?" Rey cried, her face falling into her hands. "When did we stop being the good guys?"

Omar only cleared his throat and opted not to voice his usual opinion on the matter.

"Probably when we made a deal with the Exchange Syndicate," Finn answered her. "But it's not like we're gonna keep the thing... it's more like we're just... borrowing it... right?"

"That's what we're going to tell ourselves?"

"That's _if_ we can find a ship small enough," Poe interjected. His face darkened as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "I can't believe we're doing this..."

"I can," Omar muttered, finally unable to keep to himself. "So far we're trending pretty normal."

"A big ship would work if it has escape pods," Rey answered her General, ignoring the barb. "That's how I got aboard the Supremacy from the Falcon." What seemed like ages ago.

"Which is why I can't believe you talked me into this - you are clearly nuts," Poe said, dissolving into banter to try and calm his nerves and ignore the lack of any justification for their presumed course of action. "I have literally been smacked across my face for doing some pretty reckless things, but I tip my hat to you. Of course, I say that, sitting here, actually plotting to commit a severe criminal offense..."

"For all of the right reasons... if that means anything," Rey mused, mumbling into her hands. "I thought I had the right reasons then, too. I really thought Ben Solo would turn if he felt it was safe for him to do so. And if he had... help. I truly felt that the power or the, the... the potency of the First Order would diminish somehow, without him." She stared at her hands and felt her cheeks redden, embarrassed at her own past foolishness and gullibility. "I thought this war would end. Little did I know the galaxy would turn out to be a much, much more wretched place than either of us ever really knew. The Dark Side? The Light? They never mattered at all. Not one bit."

He left, though. Ben Solo left. On his own - he made a decision, and he left. That did matter, it did mean something. And even if she never saw him again - even if she was too late... there was a part of her that knew that for a time... they were together. United. A part of her she would lock away and treasure forever. It wasn't just a win, wasn't just triumph. It wasn't something so menial. It was more than that - more than even hope.

It was divine purpose. And one she intended to keep, even in his memory. Alive. For him. It burned like a torch.

She wasn't giving up yet, even if she felt the vast expanse of open space itself was plotting against her.

"Right now, none of that matters, Rey," Finn reminded her. Grounding her, breaking her problems into smaller, more manageable pieces the way he always did. "Right now, we get a ship. Then we save our kids. And _then_ we stop the war."

"After we give the ship _back_ ," Poe reminded them. "And probably pay restitution. We're gonna need to fix that guy's tavern up, too."

"There's also that little matter with the mine on Churruma," Finn added.

"And let's not mention Lando Calrissian's north refinery," Rey lamented as she watched a fiery, joyful, heavenly morning sun frame the quays of Kalikori's space port with it's blinding, if not propitious, radiance.

"So long as we give Xindi what she really wants," Maz said, craning her tiny neck to peer over the opposite railing to get a better look at the lines of ships gathered in the loading queues, "we won't have to worry about all of that tibanna gas.

"At least... not until it's too late for her."

The space port was busier than it had been the day before, although the level of activity was infinitesimal compared to the hectic, bustling throng that had crowded the quays in Cloud City. And the atmosphere was lighter - all around her Rey watched the cheery homecomings of traveling merchants and the hopeful goodbyes of those about to embark on business and livelihood. As she weaved easily through traffic, now on foot and actively searching, she swung her hips to dodge crate after hovercarted crate filled with grains, bare metal stock, live produce, even stacked bolts of lavish, colorful fabrics. It was a welcome reminder that, while there was a thriving economy across the galaxy... it wasn't only devoted to war.

It was still about people. And all around her those people were smiling, they were focused, they were busy. They were living. And she would aim to keep them doing just exactly that.

"What about that one?" Finn pointed discreetly and hurriedly, eager to get this distasteful chore over with. He was driven by his anxiety over leaving Rose alone to mind the Zephyr by herself.

"Um... I'm not sure. Let's, uh... hmm." She knew what they had to do. There was no choice. The plan sounded solid out loud. But pulling the trigger was turning out to be tougher than she'd anticipated. "Maz, are you sure you don't see anyone you know?" Rey wasn't exactly anxious to see what fresh new nightmare would arise from making use of another of her seedy underworld contacts... but it was likely an easier and more low-profile choice.

"I didn't see much..." she confessed, "and I still don't. Which is unusual. There aren't many ports that don't bear my influence somehow."

"And I'm guessing that's bad," Finn said.

"Very. The implication is... it's bad. It's very bad."

"What does it mean?"

"It means that my people have pulled out. They've either gone to ground... or my network has been compromised."

"I don't understand," Rey whispered, trying to remain casual and covert. "Xindi is the head of the Exchange Syndicate, she's a chairman for the entire Federation on Trade. They chose _me_ to be their champion - they're sinking an unimaginable amount of credits into us... but they couldn't afford what little it would take to ensure we'd get off world safely?"

"She should have anticipated the Mandalorian clan would have made a move like this," Maz agreed. "She either did not, or simply _chose_ not to."

"Why would she ignore something like that?"

"It's because of me. It's because of the terms of our deal. She is punishing me by forcing me to see just how inconsequential I really am."

"We still need to talk about that deal," Poe stated, firmly. "You owe us a little transparency - you need to start naming some specifics on these terms you keep mentioning. We can't just keep operating in the dark. Stealing ships, in... in broad kriffing daylight."

"There is a time and a place, Poe Dameron. I promise. But it is not here. All will be made clear on Takodana. We just have to get there first."

"This isn't about Takodana, this isn't about deals," Omar Entero growled with unrestrained ferocity as he roughly shouldered his way past them. "I don't give a flying fynock's dung heap about any of that. This is about the lives of innocent kids. This is about my daughter. That ship over there?" he nodded to Finn as he reached down and popped the peace-tie straps off both blasters resting in his holster. "It'll do just fine. Enough chatter. Let's get to work."

In truth, the craft wasn't ideal but it was suitable enough, though it would have been oddly juxtaposed with the other ships that had previously landed in their custody. It was a handsome, sharp-nosed, pearly white yacht that was built more for comfort and touring than it was for a potential skirmish. It was showy and built for flaunting opulence, but had none of the fire power found on the Silencer or, to a lesser extent, the Upsilon shuttle. But it was small, clean, narrow... and, most importantly, very fast. And that was all they needed.

"Wait," Rey hissed at Omar before he got too far away from her to snag at his shirt sleeve, "you can't just barge on in there and -"

"Watch me. This is a load of shavit." He tore his arm away from her. "I'm going to get my daughter back."

"Wait!" Rey quickly circled around him until she had both hands shoved into his chest.

"Get out of my way."

"At least - stop for a second, alright! At least give me one chance to do what I..." she took a breath and released it slowly to mask her discomfort, "to do what I do best. Okay? And if it doesn't work... you can be my backup. Alright? Can we at least _try_ it my way? Just once? And not just... immediately start flashing our weapons around... Can we be civilized?"

"We're stealing a ship," he told her with veiled, but leashed, animosity.

"We're..." She rolled her eyes and echoed her friend. "We're _borrowing_ a ship. Just... just stay close. But don't do anything stupid."

She turned around and squared her shoulders. She lifted her chin and began her march toward the yacht.

She could feel them all behind her, rallying nervously. Her crew. Their eyes were all on her, burning holes into her back. They were all relying on her - counting on her as she counted every step, every breath, as she walked toward the vehicle. Her hands felt cold, her face felt clammy and tingly. She began to shiver with fright. She stretched her fingers then balled her fists. She could hear her heart beating in her ears.

If this didn't work...

As she got closer, she could hear the strange-looking, hairless humanoid crew singing to themselves as they worked to unload cargo from the ship's hold. The song was nothing she'd ever heard, but to say it was jubilant and carefree would have been a lie. The notes came quickly - too quick, like they were false. Or forced. The melody was disjointed and tense - not at all like a fun little dockworker's shanty, sung to pass the time. It felt more like something used to calm the nerves of its singers during a time of fear or stress. It was unusual and out of place. And it sent a buzz up her spine, where her neck met her shoulders.

Something was... weird here.

Something was wrong.

And it wasn't just them.

"Excuse me," she called out as she got within earshot. They either didn't hear her over the sounds of the ships coming and going from the quays like insects swarming over a hive, or... or they were ignoring her.

"H-hello...?" she called again to one man as she approached him near the open bay door. He immediately turned from her and scurried away, carring the box he was unloading in his hands. It appeared far too heavy to move with it so quickly, and alone, but he was determined nonetheless. She couldn't have been the only one that felt leery at that point. She turned and looked to Finn and Poe, and shrugged. Finn just shook his head helplessly at her. Omar loudly cleared his throat to urge her to just get on with it already.

"We should find another ship," Poe whispered before he was immediately shushed by Maz.

There was no time to find another ship. They were already invested. There was no way out but through.

She found another man, and this time she laid a hand on his shoulder to keep him from awkwardly pulling away. She may have gripped him too tightly.

"Hello there, yes," she began as the man whipped around to face her, his eyes wide as saucers and his mouth agape and breathless. She smiled as disarming a smile as she could manage for a potential felon. "Yes! Hi there, hello! I would like to speak to your captain, if I might?"

And like a switch was flipped, all activity stopped. Even a pair of workers in the middle of hauling a hovercart down the ramp stopped and froze where they stood. Outside of the ambient background noise, one could have heard a pin drop. Needless to say... there was suddenly no more strange music. And all of them, the entire crew, had turned around to face her.

The man beside her jerked himself away but then spread his arms wide, a grin splitting his face as if it was made out of wax. The expression itself was aimed to be congenial and gregarious... but the eyes that pitted it did not match one bit.

"Of course, most honored friend," the man said as he bowed oddly low at the waist. "Right this way, if you would follow me."

Omar met her shoulder as the crewman beckoned her to walk with him. The doctor's lips were pursed and she could hear him breathing through his nose, the air combing through the thick fan of his auburn moustache.

"Fondorians," he said to her, leaning in close. "Don't let them set you off. They have really weird social customs."

She tried to let that calm her nerves, but it didn't work. She was put even more on edge by a pair of human crewmates further inside the cargo bay, arguing in low, rabid tones with another Fondorian over their claim to a particular hovercart. She sidled widely around them, keeping her eyes fixed on the back of the man they were following.

"Esteemed superior," the man called out to another Fondorian near the fore of the craft - this one holding a datapad upon which he was scribbling furiously with a stylus. He was standing next to a very different sort of Fondorian individual - while not the captain of the ship, he was clearly the owner. He was dressed from his chin to the deck in long, heavy quilted robes embellished with ornate golden trims, and his head was covered with a wildly patterned headscarf. He spun around immediately as his captain dropped the stylus. Neither man made any move to pick it up - they only turned their frightened eyes on Rey.

"And... your excellency," their guide continued, "these ones wish to seek audience with your exalted presence." He practically flung himself backwards, bowing low once more as he fled.

"No, no," the man in the robes told his captain, "not more of them. Send them away. Tell them we are on a strict schedule."

"Please," Rey pleaded, momentarily overstepping her bounds as she reached for the sleeve of the man's robe. "I'm only asking for a moment of your-"

"No!" the man cried as he shouldered suddenly away from her, affronted.

And before Rey could even draw a breath, the barrel of a blaster appeared next to her left cheek. The Fondorian captain dropped the whole datapad this time and jabbed his hands up in the air. A second blaster barrel was pointed at the tip of his small, pale nose.

"Now look here," Omar growled at the pair. "You're gonna listen to the little lady, and you're gonna listen real good."

There was no going back now. The plan was in motion. Omar remained as stiff as steel, steadfast. Nobody moved. They were waiting for her to speak. And there was no point in speaking... without purpose. So she followed the aim of the blaster near her face, and approached the frozen man in robes. Slowly and without provocation she seized his eyes with her own and raised two of her own shaking fingers.

And she passed them deliberately and decisively in front of his face.

She gave him her command.

"You will give us control of this craft."

"I will give you control of this craft," the Fondorian repeated, not entirely of his own volition.

"You abso-kriffing-lutely will not," came a voice from behind her, followed by the telltale whine of a power pack being activated in a loaded blaster gun. Leaving the Fondorian mesmerized by her mastery of the Force, Rey turned to look over her shoulder - the voice belonged to one of the human crew she'd passed earlier.

They were a man and a woman. The woman remained next to their hovercart, half-sitting on the the thing with her fingers clamped around the edges, guarding it territorially. She looked like she might scream at any moment, and her eyes were wide with dread. A chestnut braid fell across her breast - its movement only served to illustrate how hard and fast the woman was breathing.

The man had begun to sidestep his way up the ramp toward them, weapon brandished at the ends of his outstretched arms. The thing was trembling in his hands - he wasn't making this threat out of madness or malice. Rey could feel it in the air all around them, sure as she could feel it within herself. It was the same thing that had forced Ben Solo to drag his broken body out of the Silencer on Prakith.

It was desperation.

Something was already happening here. They'd interrupted something.

"I can't let you do that," the man stated plainly, blinking a bead of cold, nervous sweat out of his eyes. "This ship is already stolen. Fair and square."

Ah. Now everything made sense - the strange sense of foreboding, the gravid weight of fear. This... complicated matters. Greatly. As much as it was a waste of precious time.

"There's nothing fair or square about grand theft," Poe Dameron called out as he stepped into view at the end of the cargo ramp. His gun was already held high and sighted, and Finn was at his shoulder, blaster at the ready. "No one knows that better than I do. But you don't understand what's at stake here."

"Wait... please..." the woman with the chestnut braid cried. "Tom, stop! This doesn't have to get -"

"No - it's _you_ that doesn't understand!" yelled the man called Tom, but he never took his gun off of the robed Fondorian. "Real lives depend on this ship staying right where it is... until we find who we're looking for. Besides - you'll never get it off the ground without us. Show 'em, honey."

"Tom..." the woman pleaded reluctantly. But because of how far she was entrenched into their current state of affairs, she complied.

"Easy, now!" Poe called out to her as she reached her hand into one of the cargo pockets on her pants. He skipped two steps forward, but made no move to open fire - logically he knew the pocket was too small to contain any weapon of reasonable lethality. What she retrieved, instead, was a small black box, like a controller or a switch. She held it into the air and passed it from right to left where it could be easily seen.

"It cuts the fuel line," Tom explained. "This ship isn't moving unless we say so."

"So then we shoot the girl, is that it?" Omar snapped at them, the sincerity of his bravado tough to decipher. "Or do we need to shoot you both?"

"What?!" Rey gasped. "No!" The situation was getting quickly out of hand, and was headed in a ghastly, if not completely unintended, direction. No cause was righteous enough to make the threat of bloodshed even remotely warranted. "No one's shooting anyone! Maybe we can figure out how to work togeth-"

"Every minute we stand here is another minute my daughter is -"

"Wait!" sang a small, thin, disembodied voice. It sounded like a child, but not one they could see. Before Rey could narrow her eyes and start peering around for some spectral source, the black curtain concealing the insides of the crate resting on the hovercart was yanked aside. Out from within unfolded a lanky young blonde boy, roughly twelve to thirteen years of age. His eyes were wide and imploring, and he held his hands up high.

"I think this is about me," he said. "Please don't shoot. This is my fault."

Quickly, the woman with the braid stepped away from the hovercart to push the boy behind her body, as a feeble means of protection.

"It's not your fault, sweetheart," she told him. "Don't worry, we'll take care of this. It'll be alright."

"What's going on here?" Omar asked. "Who is that? Is he yours?"

"Can we put the guns down? Please?" Rey begged, tossing her hands up and letting them fall limply to her sides. "There's a child on this ship - seriously. Put them down before I _make_ you put them down."

And for one tense moment everyone looked at each other, almost as if they were waiting to see who would lower their weapon first. Like the opposite of a race. Then in a calm and fluid concurrent motion, all of the blasters in the hold were replaced to their holsters. The captain of the ship took advantage of the brief pause to plow his way past them and run for his life. The Force-enthralled man in robes, however, remained where he stood, blithely and vacantly staring out of the viewport, contemplating the easy morning sunrise and the fleeting minutia of life.

Without warning, Omar marched across the hold toward the boy cowering behind the shape of the woman with the chestnut braid. Before she could stumble backwards over her charge, Omar tugged at his pantlegs and stooped in front of them, like he was about to bait a wild animal out of its hole.

"Who are you, kid?" he asked the boy as he leaned left to make eye contact around the curve of the woman's hip. "What's your name?"

But the boy didn't answer. Instead of shyly turning away or curling in on himself, he chose to look up at the woman... and then across the hold at Tom. His eyes passed around an unspoken question, almost as if he was seeking permission.

"You his parents?" Omar asked the woman as he settled back on his haunches, trying to pry their secrets out of them - trying to discover what was mostly likely hidden. The man and the woman just exchanged stern looks. But neither spoke.

"Look. I don't know what we've gotta do here, but we don't have a lot of time."

"They're not my parents," the boy blurted rapidly, and with enough force that he sidestepped his way out of his guardian's shadow. "I don't know them, and I don't know where they're taking me. I-I... I'm still a cadet. At Academy. I've not yet been given my exams..."

The fear in his voice was a beacon - it was a bright and radiant flare that shone through Rey's mind and lit up those dark places where the thoughts and memories of cruel terrors lived. It blazed down trails that even she herself had walked alone once, as a child like him. It was the same fear that had set Finn to flight, to run away in blind, aimless panic, praying for the universe to catch him gently and hide him like a cloak. It was the same fear that had beaten Ben Solo down onto his bent knees - had broken him into subservient submission like the hand at the end of a whip.

All this boy knew was fear and oppression and obedience. And now all of that was gone. All he knew was that he wasn't where he was supposed to be. And this world, these people... it all felt so very wrong.

And it was so painfully obvious. This child was being smuggled out of the First Order. This was an escape.

"I need you to tell me right now where you yanked this kid from," Omar commanded the woman with the chestnut braid. "Are you being watched? Were you followed?"

"Oh stars... dammit," Poe muttered as he kicked the deck and yanked his hands through his hair. Maz, unarmed and emboldened by the sudden quiet, began to furtively make her way up the gangway ramp behind him.

"How many star destroyers are up there waiting for this ship to breach atmo?"

At last, someone else was at the receiving end of one of Omar's famous lectures on bad decisions.

"We weren't followed," Tom told them in a tone he probably hoped was reassuring. But wasn't. "We..." He brushed a hand through a shock of dark hair that was starting to thin at the sides, near his temples. "We got help from an officer."

"You got help from a -!" Omar spluttered as he leaped to his feet to turn and stare the man down. "From a what?!"

"It's not what you thin-"

"And you trusted him?!"

" _Her_. And yes. We did. Because she's the boy's mother. She had a vested interest."

"So wait, wait a minute, wait," Poe called to bring a halt to the commotion, waving his hands in the air. "Let me get this straight then. Lemme see if I have this right. So... you _all_ are First Order...?"

"No, they are..." Finn mused as he stepped past his friend. There was something rigid and breathless and momentous about the way he walked up the ramp and into the hold. "All of them... they all are. Or they _were_ ," he said as he approached the woman with the chestnut braid. The smile he gave her was his usual, signature, ingratiating and affable thousand watt smile - the one that made him who he was. His eyes were bright and brimming with kinship. And try as she might to ignore it, Rey couldn't suppress the tiny twinge of envy that throbbed inside her chest. She was standing there, bearing witness to him as he achieved something so important - something that she was still trying to craft for herself. Truly, with uniform identity and mutual affinity.

He'd found his people.

"You've left the First Order," he said to the woman, nodding vigorously. "You've left..."

"Threezie," Tom called out to her, but it was too late. The tears spilled from her eyes and she pressed the back of her hand to her mouth before she whispered her muffled answer.

"Yes... because I'm pregnant."

"Rey..." Finn called to her, his own eyes lined with a wet gleam. He just looked to her and shook his head in a mixture of joy and disbelief.

"I know," was all she could say to him. Something hurt inside her that she didn't want to acknowledge, but in a small way she also felt relieved.

Because her best friend would be okay now. He wasn't alone anymore. He would have a beautiful life rich with love and community. He would build a loving family with a terrific woman. He would help these people and forge new friendships with them - with past experiences and lives and stories that they, and only they alone, could trade amongst themselves. He would create a legacy he could pass down for generations to come.

And she...

She would continue to sacrifice everything for her galaxy. Her hopes... her wishes... her desires. Her freedom, her choices. Maybe even her life. All for honor and duty.

And now, without Ben Solo... the only person who could ever understand her in the way Finn understood these people... she would have to do it alone.

"It's okay, kid," Finn told the young boy, who still bore a haunting mask of displacement and confusion. "You're going to be alright - no one here is gonna hurt you. I don't think we got your name...?"

"I-I..." the boy stammered. "I... I can't. I have strict orders." He drew up his shoulders and brought himself to attention. "I am not to tell anyone my name.

"Except for a man named Omar Entero."

* * *

\- ik'aad (baby)

\- copikla (cute/charming)

\- jetii (jedi)

\- chakaaryc (low-life/asshole)

\- or'dinii (fool/dumbass/moron)

\- ori'jagyc ("big man" in an ironic or derogatory sense)

\- ad'ika (kid/son)

\- osik (dung/shit)

\- manda (spirit)

\- aruetii/se (outsider/s)

\- Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc. Ni partayli, gar darasuum. (I'm still alive, but you are dead. I remember you, so you are eternal.)

\- shavit (Not Mando'a - galaxy common for shit)


	21. Ch 21: The Rescue

**Chapter Twenty-One: The Rescue**

"Well," Omar Entero laughed as he lolled his head back and raised his hands to the sky, "I'll be damned. This galaxy is just..."

He didn't finish, he just continued to laugh as he let his hands fall back to his sides. He didn't strike Finn as someone who was trying to be funny or project any attempt at levity. The laughter that was dying in his throat sounded more like the strained exhalation of a man strapped down with too heavy a load to bear - the air was just squeezed from him and this was the form it took.

"Pleased to meet you," he sighed with resignation as he extended a hand toward the young boy. " _I'm_ Omar Entero."

"Like hell you are," Tom barked suspiciously, allowing his fingers to sneak nearer to the blaster he'd stuffed beneath his belt. "That's awful convenient."

"No, Tom... look," whispered the woman called Threezie. She was pointing her finger toward Rey - specifically at the thing hanging from her hip. "Isn't that..."

Finn followed the woman's line of sight at the same time Rey reached down to touch the object in question, dangling gently at her side, unused but in plain view.

Kylo Ren's lightsaber. The thing was an icon, familiar to anyone within the ranks of the First Order.

"Tom... the Lieutenant said -"

"I know what she said."

"Tom!" Threezie cried, more insistently this time. "She said they took him on Prakith, Tom! You..."

Her voice drifted off as she stepped away from the boy, allowing her hand to linger on his shoulder for a moment as she pulled herself away. Finn couldn't help himself. He sought the eyes of his best friend - something important was happening. Something that would have a lasting impact - something that would give them a foothold that not even the Trade Federation could expect.

They were forming new and unanticipated allies. Critical ones. It was just like what Poe had said around the campfire, after having gone to interrogate Kylo Ren. They needed to forge new allies. And these two people were very real evidence that the First Order was willing to crumble away around the edges... if they were brave enough to try to chip away at it. How many more pieces could they get to peel off?

"You're her, aren't you?" Threezie said to Rey. The woman kept her body language cautious with her arms tightly crossed around her middle as she sniffled and smiled, nodding her assessment. "You're the girl. You're with the Resistance. You're the ones who found Kylo Ren on Prakith."

"Threezie, stop - don't tell them anything!"

"Tom," she said as she turned toward her partner, scrunching her shoulders up to her neck, "FN-2187 is with them. You heard the lieutenant - he's real, he's alive, and he's with them. And that lightsaber is proof. She was telling the truth."

Finn knew he should be careful here. The rational part of his brain knew that the First Order might send agents after him someday, having marked him as a traitor - he'd even been verbally branded as such by Kylo Ren himself. But that same part of his brain also knew that the only people in the entire galaxy who would know him by his designation - could recognizably identify him - were other soldiers like himself.

Other Stormtroopers.

People like him. People with the same struggles, ideologies... and fears.

His rational brain was too slow to stop his heart from leaping into his mouth. The words were on his tongue before the thoughts could even be fully formed and analyzed. There was something he needed here, something he desperately needed, and it overrode all of his other, higher cognitive processes.

"I'm FN-2187," he heard himself say out loud. The sound of it echoed inside his head, almost as if he was standing at the center of the galaxy and speaking a truth so big and sincere and real that even the cosmic Force itself rippled to carry it through all corners of known universe, like the shockwaves of a supernova.

"Finn..." Poe gasped beside him, and suddenly he felt every eye in the hold land on him. Just him... still standing there, a firm and singular center of the galaxy. But no longer alone. There wasn't anything else Poe could say... or would. It wasn't his choice to make.

"Dammit," Omar grumbled, "why would you tell them th- y'know what? Nevermind. We don't have the time to argue about this."

"They need us - they need _you_ ," Finn implored him. "Can't you see? This is an opportunity..."

"Okay. Sure. Fine. Whatever. But _later_. Right now we have bigger problems to solve. Look," Omar turned back to Tom, whose hand was now fully resting on the grip of his blaster. "You want me? You found me. Need me to prove it? I can't. But opening fire in close quarters in front of a child isn't going to solve anything, so why don't you leave that potential hull breach right there where it belongs beneath yer belt. Stars, even my seventeen year old daughter knows better than to just fling guns around on spaceships."

He took one daring step closer to Tom and stared him down, square in the eye, as he raised a finger to jab it around in the direction he indicated.

"You want me, or her, or him to do anything for you? Then you've gotta help us first. Right now we've got a ship in orbit that's under siege. My _daughter_ is on that ship!" he yelled at them in frustration, stricken by his emotions as he pointed toward the sky. "And so is a handful of other innocent children whose lives are in danger. We need _this_ ship in order to get in there and save them. So let us handle this situation, and then we can handle yours. How does that sound?"

The way he said it didn't leave much wiggle room for an answer that wasn't yes. And he got the results he wanted - Tom relaxed his stance on one hip, and let his hand slip from his blaster to hang at his side.

"Fine," Tom responded. "One condition, though. I'm coming with you."

"Tom!" Threezie cried.

"Honey, it's the only way we can -"

"What about us?! What about our baby?! What if something happens?!"

"Threez, it's the only way we can make sure they don't just take off and never come back."

"No," Finn began, "that's not who we are, we would never do th-"

"Give me the toggle switch," Tom commanded her, ignoring him.

"Tom..."

"Just give it. Any funny business and this ship goes nowhere." With that he turned to eye everyone in the hold. "Try to take it from me an I'll shoot every last kriffing one of you."

"Sounds great," Omar agreed, probably a bit hypocritically and far too eager. "Stupid, but great. Whatever. Let's get the umm, uh..." he gestured loosely toward the oddly garbed Fondorian who was still mindlessly lost in the tranquility of the cheerful, golden dawn outside of the viewport, "the, uh... the rest of this cargo off of the ship and get 'er in the air."

"It'll be okay," Finn whispered his reassurance to Threezie as he tentatively approached her. Stiff with uncertainty, she handed off the square little black mechanism to her partner. She grabbed the man's hand and squeezed it for a moment as she gave him a terse parting look that spoke a thousand words. Making no haste, Finn moved to take her arm to guide her and the young blonde boy down the gangway ramp leading out of the cargo bay. The way she looked up at him as they turned to make their departure was like a punch to the gut. Once more he felt himself becoming something he wasn't sure he was ready to become... but the universe or fate or the Force or whatever wasn't going to wait for him to be ready. He wondered if this was how Rey felt most of the time. He swallowed his nerves and continued. "We won't leave anyone behind. We still have a vehicle here, a wind catamaran. I'll take you there. It's too useful to abandon - we have to come back for it, so my, uh... my girlfriend is sitting in it until we can drop in for a pick up."

And that was the second pit in his belly. It twinged as he stepped out of the hold and squinted his watering eyes in the bright sunlight. It was the first time he'd ever said the word in his entire life. It felt so foreign, like some other voice had passed through his lips.

Girlfriend.

He'd spent so long a faceless, nameless number marching lost in file and rank - uniform and anonymous in more ways than one with his face sweating and hidden within the dehumanizing mantle of a white bucket helmet. And only one decision - one choice, one spontaneous and life-altering risk - took all of that away. Changed everything. Shaped it into this new and seemingly impossible form that included things he'd never even considered - things that belonged to the lives they'd tried _not_ to imagine... things that were endemic to the lives the First Order sought to reap, raze, and destroy.

Things like friendship. Things like love. Things like a purpose. Things like a name. A home, a family.

A girlfriend.

And with it came newer sensations that were tough to describe. But what he'd thought before was nothing more than simple worry had now become something larger and heavier and more consuming. This... this was what dread felt like. He was terrified for her... Rose. To leave her behind, but this time on her own. And even though that rational, logical part of his brain was vying for his attention once more, to remind him that she was probably a far more capable person than he was... his love for her was more adamant. He didn't know what to do... and it made him dizzy.

Before they left the quay to enter the short, gated queue lines for cargo carriers and standard disembarkation checks, Threezie came to a quick halt and grabbed him by both arms. Quickly, before they lost view of the sleek and stolen, pretty white yacht.

"I need to hear you say it again," she told him. "I need to know it's the truth. Our lives depend on it. Are you... really... him...?"

The man she was leaving behind was more than just a squad mate. He was the father of her baby. He was her future - her family. He was her hopes and dreams. He was her reason for putting her life on the line. The terror shining in her eyes was sourced from the same fountain of love that fed Finn's own fears. A love that was forbidden... and yet so essential a part of life and human nature. A love that sent them on a journey that paralleled his own so closely.

"I know how hard this is," he told her, cupping her elbows. "I know what kind of risk you're taking. No one knows that more than me... except maybe Kylo Ren. But I know what it's like to always have one eye over your shoulder, to not be able to trust anyone... to constantly be running and always feel so alone. But I promise you. I am FN-2187, he is Omar Entero, and you're not alone. Not anymore. And we're not gonna leave you behind."

She heaved one sigh as she dropped her hands away and stared at her feet, nodding as she summoned the strength to continue. The boy hovered near her silently, attached to her as though by an invisible leash - an unseen tether of fright, displacement, confusion, and separation anxiety. He was a castaway amongst a sea of faces, ripped away from everything he'd ever known and plunged into the depths, fighting to keep from sinking out of sight, and she was his only anchor. Not for the first time, Finn saw the importance in the work that Omar Entero was doing.

"Come on," Finn shuffled them gently along. "The sooner we get there, the sooner we can get this over with and get us all someplace safer."

He made eye contact with Rose as they weaved through foot traffic to reach where she was parked, adjacent to the exiting thoroughfare. She sat up and waved to him, having been sitting hunched over at the helm of the Zephyr while doggedly examining the holonet site secretly provided by the Hutt Representative. Her smile of relief faded upon seeing him return, blending into a careful mask of polite apprehension when she saw her lover was not alone.

And she did not recognize his company.

Finn could almost feel the woman beside him clench at such a chilly reception. It was the same way his own insides had frozen into a solid block of ice the first time he'd set foot - as a former First Order infantry soldier - inside a Resistance base. It was more than just a feeling of having both feet in two separate worlds... it was the feeling of being seen as a complete and utter fraud. It was the feeling of not knowing where he stood or where he belonged. Or if he would ever belong anywhere ever again.

But now... he was on the other side of it, and he had the benefit of hindsight. The veil of the unknown had been pulled away. And these people would get through it too.

"Did I hear the other man call you Finn?" Threezie asked him, nervously making small talk as they stopped to allow a small train of hovercarts to pass by, hauling a smelly, dusty payload of raw ore.

"Yeah - I, uh... I couldn't think of much else at the time, but I've grown attached to it." He couldn't help but smile. He couldn't imagine _not_ being Finn anymore.

"The Lieutenant told us you were going by Finn, too. I'm PK-3334, but everyone always called me Threes. So Tom calls me Threezie, heh... I guess, because he likes to make things more difficult."

"You said his name is Tom?"

"Yeah. TM-9805. There's a lot of them. A lot of Toms. But he's my Tom. Is, uh... that girl there. Is she your... uh...?"

"Heh, yeah," he rubbed at the back of his neck as they moved past the final cart to finally close the distance. "That's Rose."

"Hi there!" Rose called out, her voice light and friendly, but quavering with tiny notes of paranoia. "Everything, uh... everything alright? You're back early... and..."

"This is Threezie," Finn made the introduction as he rested an elbow on the Zephyr's shiny, brassy railing. "And, uh..." he bent to catch sight of the boy, "well... I know I'm not Omar, but what are we supposed to call you?" The boy said nothing, seeming content to scowl at his feet and pretend there were no conversations happening anywhere in his immediate vicinity. "Well... okay. This is, um... Harold. This is Harold."

"That's not my name!"

"Well, I can't really believe you if you don't prove me wrong!" Finn bent at the middle and mock-chastised him in a sing-song voice. The boy only mutely spun around and turned inward on himself, thoroughly dissatisfied with the entire state of affairs. "They're looking for Omar," Finn explained.

"That's weird," Rose replied. "And convenient."

"That's what we were thinking," Threezie told her.

"The Force works in mysterious ways," Finn said out loud, but internally he thought it just had a really warped sense of humor. Spending no more time than he really needed to, he reached to take Rose's hand in both of his.

"I know I owe you more explanation than this, but it'll have to wait. These folks need to stay here with you where they'll be safe. Threezie is... um..."

"I'm pregnant," she explained as she labored to pull herself over the railing and haul herself inside the vehicle. She balked for a moment, though, before she could reach for the boy's hands to help him up and over. Finn couldn't see what she was looking at... but Rose understood immediately.

"I know what that looks like," she told the other woman. "But -"

"It looks like a giant pool of dried blood."

"I know, it... it is. But it's not what you think."

"You do have Kylo Ren, don't you," Threezie asked them, her face grave as she stood straight and stock still, mentally questioning if remaining on board was the right decision. "He was shot down on Prakith. You were there - you got him. You have him."

"We did," Finn told her. "But we don't anymore. This is almost like a hostage exchange except it's, uh... it's complicated. And I've gotta go. Mandalorians don't like waiting."

"They do like shooting guns on spaceships," Threezie called after him while both she and Rose took the boy's arms to pull him over the side of the railing. "I know Omar said he doesn't like guns on spaceships, but I don't know how else he's going to save his daughter and take back your ship."

"Well," Finn laughed as he strode backwards, drinking in the sight of Rose's silky black curls and the soft, round pearl of her nose one last time, and the tawny apple of her cheeks, "he probably thinks he's going to lecture them about it until they decide to fling their own selves out of the airlock willingly. Between you and me, I think he's got a shot."

"Finn, wait!" Rose beckoned him before he got too far away. "Here!"

He jogged back to retrieve the two objects she was waving in the open air between them. They were both datapads - the one containing their lists of names, and the other containing Kylo Ren's stolen data.

"You'll need these," she told him, tapping a couple icons to open a program on each. "If you're fighting anyone who's been working with Clan Deshra, you're going to be fighting retribution feedback shields." Just like they had back in the tavern. "I saved both pitch frequencies on these pads. Just play them, one on each, and you can interrupt their feedback loops. It'll bring their shields down. If they've changed the frequencies, just keep cycling through until you find the right ones. Hopefully it'll help you get this done faster, and... and safer."

And there was the third kick in the ribs. Knowing that he couldn't have done this without her. And thinking about the look on her face if he didn't come back... even trying to imagine her disappointment... her resentment that he couldn't manage to follow her instructions and come back to her safe and whole. Trying to imagine her devastation, or even her own foolishness that she'd placed so of her much faith in him. He was afraid he would let her down. He was afraid she'd think less of him somehow, or question whether sharing her love with him was worth the risk of heartache.

He never knew that love could be this difficult.

But then her lips were on his again, supple and sugary as summer fruit, and as warm and life-affirming as sunrise. The soft, light slip of her tongue against his was electric, banishing his thoughts and doubts and fears back to the darker corners of his mind where they belonged. She lent him her strength and her faith and when at last he pulled away from her, he felt renewed and ready.

He felt important again.

This battle was one of many they would face - some together, some apart. But as long as they had each other and they had something to fight for, then they had what they needed to change the world. Change the whole galaxy, even... maybe forever.

* * *

The Corvette hanging in space, dwarfed by the giant freighter it saw fit to try to occupy, was a rough-hewn patchwork of loose cables, riveted bare metal patches, and cracked, bubbling paint - what used to be a lively black and yellow rendition of a clan symbol that had been stripped by atmospheric friction, solar radiation, and gunfire. Rey had seen countless junkers and pirate marauders in her life, and none were so fearsome as this beast. She could still see scorch marks striping her hull and half the surface area of the ship was dotted with cannons and homespun frag grenade launchers. The vessel left no question that it was designed for just one purpose.

And they...

They were in ship designed to tour a famous Fondorian chef and his holovid crew around the galaxy. They had a gourmet caf machine with a built in milk foamer. They had surround sound, an autopilot set to a timer, and plush seats covered with rich and sumptuous bantha calf leather. Their paintjob even had a finish designed to give it an irridescent effect under photography lens.

What they didn't have was...

"You've got to be kidding me," Omar practically sobbed from the copilot's chair, where he was seated next to Poe who was experimentally pushing every button and flipping every switch he could find on the HUD. "Who the kriff picked this ship?!" No one answered him. But everyone was pretty certain it was Finn. "High class ship like this is a floating target for thugs and thieves - you're telling me it doesn't have even one single turret?! This is crazy!"

"We shouldn't need them," Rey reminded him. "Sonora Deshra has what..." She gulped down a queer knot of guilt and loss before she continued. "She has what they want. She has Ben Solo. She made a deal for him - she said she would contact her clan and tell them to let the children go. My bounty is paid for, we're no threat to them. We should be able to just... fly right into the hangar bay. Tight squeeze, but we should fit."

"None of that explains why I still can't raise Chewie on comms," Poe told her, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest.

"Maybe he's busy on comms already. Maybe he's in contact with Sonora."

"Maybe," Poe replied to her. "But I still have a bad feeling."

He didn't have to explain it, Rey felt it too. A sinking feeling - a well of gravity that pulled the air within her down where releasing it took effort. This galaxy had already burned through her finite supply of trust, taking the Deshra woman at her word was just as difficult now as it was then.

"This is just like the tavern," she said out loud for anyone to hear. "Even suspecting it's a trap doesn't change what we have to do."

"I had wondered if you'd picked out my message," Poe smiled a clever smile at her. His hands returned to the bright, azure lights of the HUD to flit back and forth about the controls. "Well, this isn't the first dogfight I've flown with no guns. Remind me to tell you about the time we did an escort run on the outskirts of Ord Mantell. Just means we've gotta fly faster than they can shoot. Fortunately we've got a fast ship and a good pilot."

"With any luck, they won't shoot and we won't have to worry."

"Yeah," he muttered, cracking his knuckles and bringing up the laser guided flight path optimizer, "with any luck."

Anticipating a bumpy ride, Rey and the rest of the crew began looking for seats and safety straps. But when they swept smoothly into weapons' firing range and sizzling orange cannon blasts were sent sailing past their nose into the empty velvet pall of space, Rey's heart plummeted to her feet. The only spark of hope that kept total despair at bay was the possibility that Sonora Deshra hadn't kept her word because she _couldn't_ have - because Ben Solo did not turn out to be the simple bounty she'd planned. It was like him to outsmart - it was like him to fight back. Maybe he was on his own. Maybe he was safe.

Maybe... when this was done... she could find him.

Maybe he'd forgive her. Consent to return, and help her.

"Oof!" The air was knocked from her as the braided nylon safety straps that held her bit into her shoulders. Inertia swung them around - Poe had kicked out the port thrusters and tucked them into a barrel roll to dodge the next incoming volley. He immediately zigzagged the other way and for a brief second, the full Corvette had hung in the center of the viewport. The ship was fast, but not as fast as the yacht - it was bigger and bulkier. It appeared to have tilt and yaw, swinging its mass along a vector that would bring it broadside with the yacht's overall trajectory. They were clearly trying to maximize the number of cannons firing on their ship at the same time, and there were five on each side. Poe was a great pilot... but the yacht wasn't exactly an X-wing.

She undid her safety straps.

"If we haven't been able to reach them on comms," Omar grunted as he gripped his fingers onto the console to keep from thrashing around, "it's likely they're firing on us because they don't know we're on this ship."

But Rey knew better. Deep down, they all did. It was convenient to view a mean-looking Corvette full of bounty hunters as uncivilized or bloodthirsty - a roving band of fleabitten, unwashed reavers. But nothing could have been further from the truth - honor was at the root of their beliefs, and they had nothing to gain from shooting down unarmed civilians. They weren't stupid. They knew they were holding innocent children hostage. They knew that they'd commandeered their opponent's last good transport ship, and even if they hadn't, the transport was too big to fit in the freighter's hangar bay. They knew that someone like Rey would stop at nothing to make a rescue attempt. And if they hadn't called in for a pickup, then this was the only other logical course of action.

The deal on Kylo Ren was dead or no deal. They knew who they were firing at. It was just common sense. They had every intention of shooting first, then collecting their bounty from the dregs left floating in space... preferrably as far from the freighter as possible, before the yacht got close enough to endanger the lives of the innocent bystanders on board.

Rey knew their cause was lost. She planted her feet on the deck, feeling it pitch beneath her as if it was a little piece of flotsam skimming over the crests of sand dunes on Jakku. Like the squares of black tiles or old chute lids she used to use as a scavenger, skating down tall, tractable inclines to more quickly wrangle her goods back to her speeder. She remembered how the sand felt, shifting beneath her feet. She let the old muscle memory come back to her. She stood and let her body weight pivot on her hips, leaving her knees loose and fluid.

"Rey!" Finn hissed at her, alarmed. "Have you lost your mind? Sit back down before you break your neck!"

She opened her mouth to answer him, but then sucked in a quick breath of surprise. The ship twisted once more, and the ground beneath her feet rolled away behind her. She toppled forward into a trot as the deck turned over and became walls. She leaped on her tip toes over seats, light fixtures, and a power junction box. At the end of the turn, she somersaulted over to land in a crouch back where she began. Panting, and with the ship still whipping back and forth underneath her, she slowly and carefully approached the cockpit.

"See if you can bring it back into visual," she instructed Poe.

"W-wha?!" he snapped his head around, astonished to find her standing behind him. "Are you crazy? They're firing everything at us!"

"I only need a couple seconds!"

"I'm not sure I can give you even one!"

But he made the attempt nonetheless. Within the blink of an eye, the Corvette was there and gone again as Poe hit the thrusters hard to the starboard, and they careened away to duck behind the freighter. It was the biggest, safest harbor they were going to get, but it wouldn't last.

"No, no," Rey told him, "I need to see it!"

"And I need us to live!"

"Can we maybe not distract the pilot, like, _right now_?!" Omar growled at her. And he probably wasn't wrong. As usual.

Rationally, Rey knew that if they were to slide this ship back into the freighter's hangar bay, they would have to bring the yacht back around to her aft. Doing so would take them lengthwise back past the opposite side of the Corvette. And they wouldn't be able to land the yacht at their current rate of speed - they would have to slow her down, but they couldn't do so while trying to evade weapons' fire.

She would only have one shot at this.

The fact was, to someone with Rey's particular set of talents, a ship without guns wasn't unarmed. To someone like Rey, every gun on the field of play was _her_ gun.

She closed her eyes and surrendered herself to the cradled embrace of the Force. She let it right her when her balance tipped, like a steady hand. She then reached out with her mind's eye to visualize their relative position juxtaposed with their foe, and she let the Force feed her foresight. She also probed her memory, examining the glance she got at that Corvette like a snapshot.

There were five cannons on either side, but they were not in line with each other. Two of the five were offset and asymmetrical. The others however...

Her eyes flew open. She took her lower lip into her mouth and she waited. She clenched her fists, she flexed her fingers. And she waited.

"Okay," Poe stated, making his plans out loud, likely to reduce his stress level, "right now they're bringing themselves around and waiting for us to come out from the other side of the freighter. We could go under or over the top, but then we've gotta flip a full one-eighty to sling ourselves into the hangar bay while all of those guns are pointed at us."

"So you're just gonna fly right straight into 'em then, is that yer plan?!" Omar cried.

"It is."

"While they're expecting us...?! And lining up their sights on us?! All five guns?!"

"Exactly! Which means we can make a pretty safe prediction on where they're gonna be when we pull around."

"Okay, that sounds great, but how are you gonna keep us from getting blasted in the face?!"

"I'm gonna roll us away then gun it and duck under the Corvette. That will put us at an angle where I can nose 'er into the hangar bay, and we'll also be in a position that's tough for their firing arc to reach."

"Don't worry about their firing arc," Rey told them. Calm. Collected. Ready. Sound of mind, and tranquil in purpose - just as the ancient Jedi texts told her.

"I'm worried about you rolling around in here like a big sack of bricks! Kriff - hold on!"

True to his word, the instant they coasted out from behind the sanctuary of the big freighter's mammoth shadow, listing hard as Poe wrenched her port to keep her vector under control, hot, blazing streaks of cannon fire erupted from the fully perpendicular starboard side of the Corvette. The thing almost appeared to smile at them in a terrifying, predatory sort of way. It had teeth, and was happy to show them.

There was a loud thud in the cockpit as Poe yanked the controls again as far as he could, this time to spiral away to the starboard. And this time, Rey was ready. She jumped and arched her back, curling her body into a graceful and acrobatic backflip. She felt nothing but air brush over her as the ship twisted all around her. When she landed the deck was beneath her feet again. Poe punched the throttle to make a dive directly at the ship, faster than it could align it's calibration on them, with the intention of slipping beneath her at the last second. It was the only opportunity that Rey was going to get.

She flung out her hand. And she pulled.

The cannon at the far end of the Corvette's mid-line spun around independently of its brothers, ninety degrees from where it had been facing. And it opened fire on the two other cannons, in line and downstream from it. For a moment, all they could see were explosions.

"OH!" Omar gasped as he flung himself back in his seat, the glow of the billowing wave of unleashed energy lighting up his face.

When the resulting cloud of shrapnel dispersed to float haplessly through space, it was then that Rey could see clearly - one of the asymmetrical cannons had also been damaged by one of the nearby detonations. The facing starboard side of the Corvette was effectively down to one working cannon.

"There," Rey smiled smugly, crossing her arms over her chest. "Now they have a choice - they can either take the time to bring their ship around to fire from the port side cannons, or they can keep doing their best with the one they've got on the starboard. Do you think you can dodge one cannon?"

"Can I dodge one cannon," Poe laughed at her as he continued his original flight path, ducking and weaving effortlessly as he dove below the Corvette.

Where a previously unseen ventral gun was waiting.

Rey did stumble this time as the yacht lurched unexpectedly, and sparks and smoke began to fill the cabin.

"We're hit!" Tom yelled, but only matter of factly. They were in a ship that belonged to a chef, after all. So naturally the fire suppression systems that immediately burst to life were state of the art and second to none. Aside from that, the hull damage could be assessed later - they were mere meters from the lip of the hangar bay.

"Hang on," Poe addressed them, "this is gonna be rough."

They were still coming in too fast, and the angle was probably less than optimal. They managed to miss the Silencer completely, much to the relief of everyone everywhere. No one needed a heavy impact against dormant firepower of _that_ caliber. Instead, they crashed onto the deck of the hangar bay and slid the opposite direction, and Rey's teeth narrowly missed clipping off the end of her tongue. She'd only just regained her footing and her balance when the yacht collided with the Upsilon shuttle with a resounding clang that left her ears deafly ringing for several seconds. After that, something loud and heavy tumbled and rolled from overhead.

"Oh man," she could see Omar mouth as a second loose chunk of the shuttle's obelisk wing - the one that had been damaged in the firefight over Churruma - finally fell away to land directly on the yacht's thick plexiglass viewport. It scraped a long, angry scar across the nose of the yacht before it finally reached its resting place.

"We're still taking this ship back?" Omar asked Poe.

"It's probably insured," Maz called from the back.

"Do you think they'll fire on us in here?" Tom asked as he, Finn, and Maz ripped off their safety straps.

"Only the ventral gun is at a good angle," Poe answered him, craning around to look behind them, "but it's risky, and I'm not sure they want to endanger -"

He was interrupted by blaster fire pitting new holes in their port side hull plating. It didn't come from outside the hangar bay, however - it came from within.

"Oh look," Omar groused, deadpan and monotone, "more guns. Think that insurance policy covers guns?"

"He's a celebrity," Maz answered him, turning and straightening the spectacles on her face, "I'm sure it's fine."

"What's our strategy?" Finn asked the burning question. "Once we get off the cargo ramp, there's not much cover between the ship and the door..."

"Don't worry about that," Rey told him, ripping Kylo Ren's lightsaber from her hip with one good yank. Everyone jumped when the hiss of the blade and the burning flare of hellish red light cast a sanguine penumbra over every dark space in the cabin. "Just follow me."

She was furious. She had fought so hard to maintain control over her emotions, like she'd done during the skirmish outside, but she failed. She just couldn't take any more.

She was starving, she was exhausted, she was hurting, she felt used, she felt betrayed, she had the weight of the galaxy resting on her shoulders, and she was furious. Ever since she couldn't bring herself to sell that cute little astrometric droid for rations, she'd been thrust into this whirlwind life of insanity. She hadn't stopped getting attacked, kidnapped, tortured, held for ransom, beaten down, lied to, or shot at since. She wanted a hot meal. She wanted a long bath. She wanted to sleep for two days. She wanted just a few nice, quiet hours to herself, during which she didn't have to see or talk to anyone. She was tapped out, her battery was empty. She was absolutely done with all of this.

And she was furious.

She was ready to go swing that blade at something. Anything. Let the will of the Force save anyone who managed to get in her way. She knew it wasn't the Jedi way. To hell with the Jedi. She stomped her way across the cargo deck and slammed her hand down onto the button that released the seals on the ramp. Everyone crowded at her back. They were ready to take their own damned ship back.

* * *

"You're awful quiet," Sonora Deshra teased him.

Kylo Ren knew why that surprised her. He was aware of what people said about his temper. He was aware that the mere suggestion of his reknowned hair-trigger hostility kept a lot of people at arms' reach. Which suited him just fine. All of his life, all he'd ever seen in the eyes of the people who looked upon him was fear. Fear, revulsion, and mistrust. Even from the people who loved him. All except... for her. The girl. But there was only so much a person could take.

The assumption that he was an inherently violent person was incorrect. He could be cold. He could be ruthless. And at times, yes, he could be explosive. But that didn't make him a maniac. It didn't mean he was crazy - he wasn't crazy. He had moments of serenity, of introspection. He had moments of meditative calm. And privately, he too was mistrustful of people. He was guarded... maybe even shy. Withdrawn. He didn't think there was anything wrong with being someone who wasn't prone to polite laughter or banal small talk. He simply believed words carried meaning, and should be reserved solely for such instances. So... he supposed, in all honesty, he truly was just a quiet person by nature. It didn't necessarily mean anything.

"You mad at her for sellin' out on you like that? Or are you just scared? I did mention the buyer wants you alive, didn't I?"

Scared...? Oh, good grief. The very thought was just... just absurd. And shortsighted, to say the least. She clearly knew nothing of her prey - nothing more than his face value, which was all that really mattered to her.

Sonora Deshra couldn't fathom his fears. Her struggles paled in comparison. When this was done, she'd go home to her clan. She'd go home and wait for the day she'd enter her hallowed Halls of the Hunt, to be welcomed by the arms of her son. His father and mother would do no such thing for him, having abandoned their claim to him years ago. Once the bounty hunter's contractual obligation was fulfilled he would be cast out to the tides of the universe, to wash up a broken and lonely piece of driftwood on the shores of obscurity, somewhere out there. But Sonora Deshra would collect her paycheck, then forget all about him and move on with her life. The same as everyone else.

The same as Rey.

Who had no choice but to move on without him, corralled in the direction the Force bade her go. His own vanity was his epitaph - to think he could ever have been her teacher... He was a master of nothing, what could he teach her? His destiny was failure. His legacy was obsolescence. His only roll in her story was to provide a cautionary tale that taught her the folly in seeking corruption in the dark side of the Force... that, and to show her how to remove the end cap from the hilt of a lightsaber with no hand gestures.

He was a fool to ever beg her to stay with him. Not when her purpose was so far ahead and away from him. Not when her story was so much bigger. He was a fool to ever think he could offer her anything... let alone a galaxy that was not his to give.

But if he could...

"You know, in my experience," the Deshra woman broke through his train of thought once more as she pounded insistently on the console, grimacing at her unanswered hails as she double-checked her frequency, "quiet people are planners. Should I be worried about what you're planning?"

Maybe that was the twist in his thinking. Maybe he should be planning - more in the long term. The dregs of his mother's Resistance may be cashing in on a brand new fleet of ships, but their man power was still severely underrepresented. Instead of lamenting over everything he could never give her... the girl... Rey... perhaps he should focus on the one thing he still could.

Help.

Her friends still believed that she had need of them. They still believed they shared footing with her, and that they would vanquish the galaxy's woes alongside each other, a united front. But their efforts, while valiant and sincere and probably appreciated, would soon turn vain. They would be nothing to her, when the time came - nothing more than the clouds beneath her feet, or a net to catch her. They couldn't comprehend the world she lived in.

But he could. He knew its rules and its motives. He was intimately familiar with its hidden menaces. He knew how to survive its stranglehold. He had strength, he had skill. He had knowledge. He had a looser moral compass and a stronger stomach - his hand wouldn't falter when it came time to make hard choices for the greater good. He could be there to help her when mercy was not an option. He could be there to balance her when the light in her made her afraid of her own emotions.

The two things he didn't have, though, were the key combination to these damned infernal stun cuffs...

And a ship.

At least... for now.

"What the bloody kriffing hell!" Sonora Deshra slammed her fist once more into the console, cracking the interface and causing the HUD to stutter slightly. In her fit of pique, she hung her head and swung it slowly, dragging the back of one hand across her creased, sun-leathered brow. "Ni cuy dar'manda... ni cuy Mando'ade! Mando'ad draar digu..."

"Troubles?" He could keep his tongue no longer. To do so now would just be awkward... and he hated when people thought he was awkward.

It was her turn for taciturn silence. Instead of answering him, she raked her fingernails across the innocuous rows of buttons before her, keeping her chin pressed to her chest and growling beneath her breath.

"Things aren't going as you planned?"

For a moment he thought she might sling an elbow into his teeth, to make him pay for his combative mouth with a pound of flesh. The way Snoke would. The way he still expected. The reflex was trained and instinctual. But instead she just laughed at him. A sickly, raspy wheeze of a laugh, like something laced with acid. She leered at him out of the corner of her eye.

"You're a funny guy, you know that?"

"Just a casual observation."

"Heh."

She placed both palms on the console and straightened her arms, pushing herself back and arching her spine to release some sort of tension.

"Not even the best laid plans are flawless," she told him. "Your crew are stranded planetside. They can't leave the surface without calling for a pickup." She gave the console one last good shove then brought a thumbnail into her mouth for a noisy chew. She was clearly flummoxed. "Nothing works for _anyone_ unless they call in for a pickup. Why wouldn't the comms be clear...?"

"I already told you, they -"

"Shut up! I know what you told me!"

"You think they're just a bunch of little children up there, don't you?"

"Obviously not, di'kut. I'm not stupid - I know how tall I was the first time I could reach the flight controls without sitting on blocks. I know you've got a compliment of at least -"

"What do you really think you know about those children anyway?"

"They're probably wasting all your bandwidth watching holovids - what's that got to do with -"

"You think you're so smart."

It was his turn to laugh. It was an icy, cruel mockery of a thing that left his throat. He didn't know why he felt compelled to rise to his feet, but he did it anyway. Perhaps it was a leftover imprint from his time within the First Order. Perhaps he just wanted the chance to tower over her and stare her down imperiously from above, to remind her who still _really_ had the upper hand. Perhaps it made him feel as if he was more in control of his situation. Spoken words were often wasted in Kylo Ren's opinion, but body language... body language was a volume beyond words. It was a far more efficient form of communication, and it was rarely misconstrued.

"Maybe you are," he went on. "You probably are. But this fight isn't about being smart. This fight is about strength."

There was something about his words or his tone, or the shift in their relative positions that put her on edge. She leaned back in her seat as she peered up at him and behind her eyes he could see her wheels turning, categorizing the current locations of her personal armaments, or calculating distances to the nearest forms of exit, or mentally rehearsing combat sequences in anticipation of his opening move.

"You think I'm some sort of weak old woman, is that it?" she asked him, feigning intrigue by the prospect of violence. "Some sort of bent and helpless ba'buir?"

"Did you know all of those children up there are like me?"

"A mouthy pain in the ass?"

"Force sensitive."

She narrowed her eyes at him and folded her arms in front of her. She was trying to sniff out his bluff... and why he might feel he needed one in the first place. But her curiosity won her out - she wanted to know what he was getting at. Sometimes the trap was more interesting than the bait. He continued before she could prompt him.

"They're young and untrained. They haven't mastered the art of control yet." His voice was soft and deadly, but his gaze had fallen outside the viewport - out over the breeze-brushed tips of tall grasses covering the floodplain on which they rested. Something was glinting in the distance, on the horizon. Someone was coming. "Restraint comes with years of study and practice. But the Force can be very overwhelming to a person so young and inexperienced... and alone. Without a mentor, it can eat you alive."

"So... am I supposed to be more afraid of them than you? Or is it the other way around? I'm confused." She was trying to rile him. He ignored her. This would all be over soon.

"They're so strong. I watched them collapse an entire mine shaft. They did it to escape from me. They trapped me inside. One of those boys hasn't even figured out how to lift a rock yet without shattering it. Without splitting it clean in half. He's got a hell of a grip."

Sonora lolled her head over to one shoulder and eyed him skeptically. She wore her disdain for his theatrics openly but made no attempt to stop him. She didn't appreciate his attempt to taunt her any more than he did hers... but the information he was giving held at least some importance to her nonetheless.

"The human body can bend," he warned her, evenly, casting his eyes on her to hungrily hold her unblinking gaze, "until the human body breaks."

Something dark crawled up his spine like an itch. He tasted the old, thirsty tang of blood on the back of his tongue. He could worry about the cuffs later. If anything he could trade the bounty hunter's blaster and a few of her other gadgets to some pimply, teenaged prep-school gradebook slicer to run an ad hoc algorithm against the combo lock.

What he needed was the ship. This ship. His mother's ship. And he needed it before that thing on the horizon got too close to get away from it. The transport didn't have any cannons but he didn't need them. He only needed himself. _He_ was the most dangerous thing in this galaxy.

Aside from... her. The girl. Rey.

"I told you they'd fight you," he snarled at the Deshra woman, tightening his fingers into fists. "I told you not to underestimate them."

She dropped her hands from her chest to smooth them over the ends of the armrests that cupped her in her seat. Her stance was far too casual. Her level of apparent relaxation seemed forced. The muscles coiling beneath her skin were ready for anything.

"Will you underestimate me?" he asked her, daring her.

"I've already overestimated you," she spat. "Only a complete or'dinii would screw up a deal that wants him alive."

Her eyes flicked away from his for the fraction of a second - only long enough to land on the vambrace control for the electronet. Her blaster holster was hanging on the seat behind her. The glance was likely a misdirect - he'd be an idiot to think she wasn't still armed, likely with at least one vibroblade. Probably stuffed in her boot... itching to slip between his ribs if he proved to be more trouble than what he was worth.

"You can't uphold your end of the bargain," he answered her. "Why should I uphold mine?"

"So we're supposed to fight now? Is that it, ori'jagyc? Just knock each other's teeth in? For what? What do you think you'll gain? You're so close - this could all be over for you if you'd just... wait..." She shifted in her seat and straightened, leaning forward to jut her face closer to him and eye him with cocksure bemusement. The movement was designed to mask how close her hand now rested to her knee. And the top lip of her boot. "You have another ship on the surface... don't you...?"

She gave every indication that she was certain of her deduction. But for all of his skills, for all of the years of painstaking effort he'd put into crafting the mask he wore to conceal his thoughts and emotions, he could never fully prevent them from betraying him. Perhaps it was the twitch of a brow or the pull of his mouth. Her brief lapse of overconfidence faded.

"No... Hux said you escaped in a TIE," she said. "That can't be it. A TIE only seats one."

"Two."

"T... two? Really?"

"Yeah," he muttered. "That TIE does. Long story."

"Doesn't matter. Two people aren't enough to take back a freighter that big."

"Is that what you think?" It was his turn to brim with confidence - he'd have to use that to make a move. He had no more time for her coaxing or her bad deals. A tiny pinpoint of reflected light moved across the pane of the viewport.

"As tight as that fight was in Kalikori? Yes I most certainly do. But how else would you...? If you didn't have another...? No, you don't have a base on Tython - they're too neutral, it's too problematic. They'd never stand for that. The Resistance fleet was decimated over Crait, so I... I don't understand..."

He couldn't get the hidden blade away from her while it was still hidden. He'd have to feint to draw her out... and prepare for the worst.

"Face it," he sneered at her, "your clan will never step foot out of that hangar bay alive. Your hunt is over, the deal's off. You can't keep your end of the bargain, and there's no need for me to keep mine. Not when you have something I need."

She only had a moment to tilt her head in confusion when, with a jerk of his chin, her blaster holster sailed out of the cockpit to clatter loudly to the deck across the passenger cabin. She cackled as she ran her tongue along her gapped teeth - a good fight was probably the only other thing she cherished more than a smooth deal. But she didn't pull the knife. Perhaps she'd seen the ship approaching too - perhaps she was planning to buy time. Perhaps she still didn't want to damage her goods.

In a flash, knowing his next move was to choke the life from her, she threw a hard upper cut toward his jaw, but he was too quick and well trained. He dodged her easily and wrenched her wrist around hard, flinging his other hand toward her throat. She was prepared for him, though - she pulled against her captured wrist for leverage and sank a heavy boot deep into his groin. Pain exploded from his kidneys to his eyeballs, doubling him over and dropping him to his knees, gasping through a diaphragm that had seized and refused to draw breath. Freed, she swung herself over his prone form, but before she made a mad dash toward the electronet behind her she grabbed him by his hair and slammed his face into the console for good measure. The crunch was nearly enough to make him vomit.

An ordinary man would have been left crippled. But Kylo Ren drew power from pain.

With his right hand still clamped around his middle, he lashed his left out at the electronet just as the bounty hunter reached it. He was faster, though, and when he pulled it he ensnared her in it. The woman let out an uncharacteristic shriek of panic as she flailed unsuccessfully to rid herself of the thing, tripping over and falling onto her back. She then flung herself around and tossed an arm toward the vambrace control - if she failed to reach it before he did, there was no telling what he might do to her. Once more he outpaced her as he yanked the vambrace off of the floor, but she happened to snag it when it zipped through midair past her face. She roared in desperation as she fought to keep it from him, grappling with the thing in a vicious game of tug-of-war. But she was weakening by the second, and her hand was slipping. It was only a matter of time...

Time she knew she didn't have. Her other hand reached around to touch something on her arm and a tiny, unidentified mechanism slid out from a thin metal bracer, hidden within the folds of her sleeve. She grunted as she struggled to keep her hold on the vambrace - her fingertips had begun to turn white from the pressure. But that other hand had dipped into a side pocket on her pants to retrieve an even smaller object.

One Kylo Ren recognized instantly. It was a tranquilizer dart. And in doing so, she presented him a hard choice.

"Oh no you don't," he cried as he let go of the vambrace to snatch the fuzzy little dart from her other hand. But now she had everything - she had the dart gun at her wrist, she had the net, and she had the controls. He couldn't let her load another dart - he couldn't let her disentangle herself from that net. He had to do something. He would kill her if he had to...

He stalked toward her as she dug her heels into the deck and slid herself backwards, still trying to wrestle herself out of the net while keeping distance between them in order to better evade him. It would be so much easier if he could only conjure Force lightning the way his master once could. One spark is all it would take - the lattice of the net would do the rest, carrying the charge along its wires to coat her body and stun her unilaterally. From there he could dump her out the airlock and the ship was as good as his.

But the nature of Force lightning was sinister. It wasn't born purely from a place of passion or defiance, or even bloodthirst... it was born from an intense loathing. A seething. From a place so dark and devouring that it left its user a blind and empty, hollow shell, cored and carved away from the inside out. It required not only sacrifice, but a bitter indifference to that sacrifice as an additional tithe... one he was never quite capable of paying. To do so would change him into something he wasn't sure he ever really wanted to be. Not... really.

So instead he reached out through the Force and lifted her by her neck, slamming her back into the facing bulkhead repeatedly until she finally dropped the vambrace control. Mandalorians were tough with their thruster packs and gadgets - their armor, their guns, their retribution feedback shields. They were a much more manageable threat, however, when complacent over the promise of an easy deal, and still dressed to play the part of a barmaid. And then, of course... there was the Force.

"What is wrong with you?!" she scowled at him, squeezing her eyes shut until the ringing between her ears began to subside. "You're getting the best deal possible! Just let them pay it then you're _free_! Why would you screw this up?!"

A humming rumble set the electronet rattling against her shirt and the leather of her belt. The vambrace control buzzed where it lay on the deck. A long shadow cast the cabin into a dark grey gloom of dread. It was too late now... there was nowhere to run. Frigid cold pulsed up his spine with every heartbeat, pooling and freezing in the place where his neck met his shoulders. His mouth was suddenly too dry to swallow. He gave her the only answer he could.

"Some fates are worse than death."

"Hah," she laughed at him, ridiculing him as she patently misunderstood him, "only a Sith is afraid of death. I am not afraid to die - do your worst! To fight for this hunt is an honor - to _die_ for this hunt is to die with honor! I will fight you, ori'jagyc - you do what you need to do! Strike me down, send me home to see my son - go ahead! But what happens to you next?!"

He caught movement outside in his periphery - a warble in the tapestry of shadow that held them in its mire. He didn't want to look at it... he didn't want to face what happened next. Some fates were worse than death.

"Who's next after me, huh!? You make a break for it here!?" she continued to berate him. "Rodian pirates? Zabraki hunters? Trandoshans? Other Mando'a like me? You can be as strong as you want - whatever! But don't be stupid!"

But she didn't understand. All of those things... they were just flesh. Flesh that moved bones. Nothing more than meat and blood and bone and neural impulses. Simple things. Soft things. Ordinary things.

What was waiting for him out there was a specter. One he'd known all of his life. He didn't have to see it to know what it was - it's talons were tickling the length of his spine from beyond the depths of his oldest childhood nightmares. It was the harbinger of every cruel thing that robbed from him his life, his family, and his innocence. Robbed him of his own free will.

They came for him even now just as they'd come for him when he was a child. To steal him. To _find_ him. Because that was their gift - to find. They could find anything, it was who they were, it was what they did. And the bounty hunter was right. There was nowhere else he could go. It was all over for him now.

He sucked his lips into his mouth to keep them from trembling. He released his hold on the Deshra woman and curled his fingers back into fists. He pleaded hard with a stomach that was threatening to turn inside out. He closed his eyes once and summoned the courage to face his buyer - to face this foul, putrid horror that tipped him reeling head first into flashbacks of childhood trauma.

It was everything he could do to keep from crying out... to keep from running, to keep from fighting for his life when his eyes landed on them.

There were three of them - three still, black alien figures that blocked the sunlight as they stood and stared and waited. Unnaturally tall with unnaturally small heads perched atop unnaturally elongated necks hidden beneath flowing robes and veils. Everything was stretched into gross, freakish distortion on their bodies...

The bodies of Snoke's Navigators. And they'd come to find him once more... just as they'd done, all of those years ago.

But what more could they possibly take from him?

* * *

"I've got this - just keep 'em occupied!" Finn cried as they all huddled together at the rear of the yacht.

Rey was happy to oblige him. She paid the ventral gun of the Corvette outside no heed, unlike Poe Dameron who balked as he stared down the barrel of the thing, waiting for it to blast the hangar bay to smithereens. The only thing that drew his attention away begrudgingly was the angry volley of blaster fire that swarmed in glowing colors all around him. He danced nimbly, scorch marks narrowly missing his agile feet.

But for Rey, there was nothing so mercurial about this fight. This fight wasn't about reflexes or dexterity. It was about strength. Strength... and rage. She had been asked to sacrifice so much already. How much more would she be asked to sacrifice before this fight was over? The thought alone was enough fuel to stoke the fires inside her. She stood before the men who were firing on them from the doorway, and she met their eyes and she stared them down. She'd made a hard, terrible trade for this ship, and she was _going_ to take it back, one way or another.

Returned gunfire was easily deflected by Clan Deshra's shields. Blunt force trauma, however, was a different story. She reached out through the Force and found the piece of the Upsilon shuttle wing that had gouged its way down the nose of the yacht. She screamed her battle cry as she gave the thing a good lift and slammed it into the door frame where the bounty hunters stood, using line of sight as their only cover for their position. She was fairly certain one of the men didn't make it out in time - the crunch and a wet, guttural cry gave him away, although it was possible he'd only been crushed below his waist.

Without sparing a single moment to look, she yanked the thing away again to rake it across the tiles of the hangar bay deck before she launched it out into space, sending it sailing through the atmospheric force field to bash headlong into the ventral cannon hanging beneath the Corvette. Shattered, broken pieces of shrapnel twirled lazily off into the limitless black fathoms beyond, leaving the threat sufficiently nullified.

She stalked forward, lightsaber ready, before their enemy had any time to regroup. She could feel the blade's hatred burning in her hand. She could feel the crystal's fury like heat, twisting up her arm like smoke. The crack that cleaved the thing like a wound was cutting into her skin, branding her like a hot iron. It colored the air, the world - her very thoughts - a searing, blazing red... and for a moment it frightened her. It made her afraid of what she might become if she let too much of Kylo Ren enter her.

But it also gave her hope, too, that Ben Solo was still alive out there somewhere. That the broken crystal that twinned his soul could still feel its connection to its master. And as such, it could still feed her the strength she needed to save the lives of their innocent children.

She set her feet to marching, but before she could take two steps Omar had met her at her shoulder, both blasters raised and firing. His lips were pulled back into a sharp-toothed snarl, making his beard bristle like the hair on the back of a manka cat's neck. She could feel the others rounding up behind her.

Gingerly, they stepped over the mangled man still groaning in the doorway to enter the long passageway that lead to engineering and the open cargo space beyond. Breathing heavy, they all followed the shouts echoing up the corridor, and the glow of the lightsaber against the walls. From behind her, Rey could hear a tiny, thin whistle - presumably from Finn and one of the datapads he'd been holding dutifully before him.

Upon exiting the passageway, another fierce barrage of blaster bolts immediately erupted from behind the coolant tanks and the large metal tubes that fed the ion fusion chambers deep inside the freighter's engine. At the same time, a wall of acrid smoke and the smell of burning metal stung their eyes and filled the air. Flickering yellow-orange light licked up the walls - a telltale sign of an uncontrolled fire burning somewhere within. The situation was growing more urgent. This wasn't the type of space where Rey could just haphazardly divert gunfire with the aid of a lightsaber and the Force. This type of environment called for greater precision, and a whole lot of guts.

Sooo... she rushed them.

They weren't going to come out from their hiding places, and until their shields were disabled, firing on them was only further risking a missed shot that could result in total catastrophe. To evade a blaster bolt at close range that would scatter her entrails all over the floor, she sprung up hard to run her feet along the near bulkhead before catapulting herself saber-first onto her enemy's chosen hiding place. The only thing heard above their gunshots and their gasps of surprise was her own savage roar.

The one she landed on collapsed under her weight, dropping his pistol but also freeing his hand to search for his vibroblade. He never got the chance to use it, though. After Rey bashed an elbow into the face of his partner, she impaled her prey with the hot, red pointy end of Kylo Ren's lightsaber. The other man, fearing for his life after watching his friend get dispatched so easily, wasted no time in ramming his knee into her rib cage and pounding her in the left cheekbone with his heavy metal gauntlet. In her brief daze, she heard Finn shout his words of encouragement to her.

"I've almost got it!"

He brushed past her to continue following Omar up and ahead, further into the belly of the ship along with Poe, Maz, and their new comrade, Tom.

When her vision cleared, she found herself staring down the length of a blaster barrel. She grabbed the man's wrist and turned it away the very moment his finger pulled the trigger. She sliced at him with the saber but he kicked her again, pushing her only as far away as her vice grip on his arm would allow. He was strong enough to overpower her, to wrestle against her and turn his pistol toward her heart. She couldn't allow him a second opportunity to take that shot - it was him or her. So, she brought the saber around again and neatly severed his hand. She then stabbed him to mercifully silence his screams and put him out of his misery.

Pushing damp hair out of her eyes, she turned to follow the whistling siren of Finn's datapad all the way past the med bay and up to the doorway to the main commons where she found him crouched out of firing range. Maz was cuddled up next to him with her eyes sighted down her blaster barrel, providing him cover. He had the first datapad lying beside him and the second an inch from his face where it illuminated every bead of sweat on his brow and upper lip. It set the whites of his eyes and the line of his teeth in stark, tense contrast against the shadows cast across the rest of his face. He was so engrossed in his efforts he paid absolutely no heed to the large meteoric shot that pummeled the corner near his head, blowing a chunk off of the wall to rain down a cascade of debris all over his chest. The shot had obviously come from Chewie's bow caster, which told her that there was a good chance they hadn't been too late - that the children were still alive.

She dropped to the floor near Finn's feet and pressed her back to the opposite side of the doorway, leaning in with only half of her face to try to get a picture of the commons room inside. What she found upon her initial inspection was the potential for a horrifying blood bath.

Poe, Tom, and Omar had taken whatever meager cover they could find - the latter two having ducked into the mess unit leaving Poe to fend for himself behind a crate of standard issue nutrient paste. Beyond them, their attention now divided and frenzied, was a small mob of Deshra clansmen and their compatriots who had taken up residence behind a barricade of couches, chairs, and tables. Tin cups, holovids, and game pieces were strewn everywhere, and several small fires crackled openly with the promise of suffocating death if left unattended for much longer.

The clansmen's backs were wide open targets.

They clearly had not anticipated being struck from behind as they'd chosen to focus instead on pressing their advance into the interior of the ship. Rey couldn't blame them - before she and her team had boarded, there was no reason for any of them to believe they faced any threat beyond the angry Wookiee and the strawberry blonde, teenaged girl who were both firing ineffectually on them from behind a sparking, damaged holoprojector.

"Look, girl," Maz gasped at her.

And then a sickening thought struck Rey like another heavy boot to the belly. Was... was that the reason Sonora Deshra's messages hadn't come through...? A damaged holoprojector? Was all of this violence completely needless? How many more would have to die if she couldn't stop them - if she couldn't make anyone listen?

The bounty hunters were sandwiched and vulnerable, flanked between two opposing forces on either side, and horribly exposed. The only thing that had kept them from doing anything irrational and stupid in a state of panicked self-preservation was the integrity of their retribution feedback shields. If Finn brought them down now, it would be utter pandemonium. Against her better judgment... she had to stop him. She yanked the second datapad out of his hands before he got any further.

"W-wha...?" he stammered, confused. "What are you doing?"

"The holoprojector is damaged!" she yelled at him over the cacophony of gunfire and the howling descants of Wookiee obscenities.

"What's that got to do with -"

"No one else needs to die! We just need to fix the projector so that Sonora's messages can come through!"

 _If_ she sent them... Rey wasn't completely certain the risk would outweigh the reward, but they had to try. They'd made a deal. A hard deal.

"How are you gonna convince _them_ of that?!" Finn shouted back at her, poking a finger toward the men in question.

And it was at that moment where she stopped - the fight stopped, time stopped, everything stopped - and she looked within... deep within herself. For that moment, the thought had crossed her mind that it would just be easier, maybe even better, if she gave the datapad back to Finn to let him complete his work... let him bring those shields down... let them slaughter every last one of those men in cold blood and end this fight once and for all. She glanced down at that datapad... and the hands that held it, slick with the blood she'd smeared all over the thing's smooth, slim edges.

The blood of the lives she'd already taken.

She stared at the evidence of her lust for violence. She stared at the bridge she'd almost crossed and, not for the first time, she thought of Ben Solo. How old had he been - and how alone had he been - when he'd stood on this bridge? The one that spanned the divide between righteous fury and the thrill of power? Between the zealous conviction of a just cause... and a flimsy, vapid justification for murder? The pale, thin line between a hero and a monster?

She remembered the rush of control she'd felt when she'd entered the mind of the tavern keep in Kalikori Town. The way her feelings of desperation and helplessness had evaporated in an instant with such a simple, terrible action... She remembered voicing her concerns to General Leia Organa, what felt like ages ago, that she feared her own anger... that she was mortified by her hatred. And yet, she wasn't afraid of the dark. She was more afraid of how much she _didn't_ fear it. Did it constitute temptation...?

Was this what caused Luke Skywalker to light his saber over the form of an innocent, sleeping young boy?

If so... what did this make her...? Was this the will of the Force?

But then, as she pressed her cheek to the corner of the entryway one more time to watch Poe tuck himself into a ball to dodge an errant shot, she remembered something else Ben Solo had said.

 _There's no such thing as Destiny, there is only Choice._

She would have to make a choice. A better choice, the right choice. And that time was now.

"Go girl," Maz told her with preternatural assurance. "You know what you have to do. You can do it." The woman pulled the datapad from her fingers.

She was right. She had to. She had to make it over the barricade to reach the holoprojector, but even at the pinnacle of her dexterity she couldn't get past all of those men without taking fire. And again, parrying blaster bolts with the lightsaber only put her friends at greater risk, as if they didn't already have enough to dodge with blasts tearing holes in the bulkheads or ripping hot cuts across the deck that left streaks of flames in their wake. Her frantic brainstorming was brought to a short halt when two of the men at the barricade peeled away to pull their vibroblades and close the distance between themselves and the mess unit, presumably to take full advantage of their shields in order to deal with Omar and Tom. She had to take action now. The break away gave her the edge she needed.

She couldn't make repairs to the holoprojector while it still had power. And while she knew the Mandalorian helmets the hunters wore had dark vision capability, there would be a brief pause before it kicked over. It was now or never.

"Omar!" she screamed. When the man turned to look at her from where he cowered behind the long metal line of cabinetry, she finished with a loud, "Here!" before she lobbed the lightsaber through the air. He caught it swiftly and gave her a quick, confused quirk of an eyebrow before she turned and flung a hand toward a junction box on the wall. Through the Force, she yanked it open and pulled the converter, breaking the circuit.

And the whole of the commons was plunged into darkness.

Lena Entero's high-pitched shriek told her where she needed to go. With that, she let the Force guide her. She ran directly toward the men at the barricade before they could see her. She leaped at them, landing both hands on a pair of strong, armored shoulders before she cartwheeled herself over them and the barricade entirely. When she landed on the deck, she rolled into a tight somersault that brought her to the rim of the dais where the projector sat. Looking up and back from where she lay on the floor, all she could see was the red sheen of the lightsaber across the commons and the burnt glow that still bled from the wound in the holoprojector.

But that all ended when she heard Chewbacca roar from behind her. A grunt and a light breeze from his pelt as it tore through the air told her he'd thrown something. The ensuing explosion that deafened her would have blinded her, too, if she hadn't been so fixated on trying to identify the mangled wiring on the projector's console. He'd thrown a flash grenade - he was trying to reset the kick over on their enemy's dark vision. If she was paying attention the next time, perhaps she could get a better look at what she needed to do, and catalog the different colors insulating the exposed wires. That was all she needed to see.

"I just need a little time," she pleaded with Lena, who had crowded in next to her once the Mandalorians had recovered and resumed their attack.

"What are you doing?!" the girl cried in bewilderment.

"There's someone on the outside who needs to get a message through," Rey replied, ripping and tearing at the wraps that wound their way up her arm. She only needed a short length. "This can all end - I just have to fix this!"

"How can you even see?!"

"I can't," she answered honestly. She felt certain the Force wouldn't steer her wrong... but a little light would really help her out.

Chewie chirped his understanding and threw another grenade.

Omar bellowed ferociously as he slashed the lightsaber at his attackers during the momentary flash of light. Poe had dropped his blaster pistol when another hunter turned on him, doing his best to wrestle him to the ground and end his life. Finn charged from where he sat to tackle the man around the middle in defense of his friend and leader. And before the light faded, Rey was successfully able to distinguish the yellow wires from the blue ones and separate them between her right and left hands. All that was left to do was twist their frayed connections together and wrap them tightly with the cloth. The sweat-sodden strips of linen would eventually burn away from the surge of conductivity, but perhaps they'd last long enough for one short, crucial bit of conversation across time and space. When her handiwork was complete, she leaped across the deck to replace the converter to its rightful place and restore power to the commons.

A panorama of chaos raged all around her when the lights came on. The mess unit had been shredded to not much more than hot melted strips of metal, Poe and Finn were still grappling with their assailants amidst a jumbled mess of collapsed crates and nutrient paste tubes, and a multitude of blaster bolts were still ricocheting off of the walls. Rey pulled her own blaster from its holster to provide cover for herself as she returned to the holoprojector. Once there, she scrolled through the call logs until she found the frequency for the Resistance's last good transport ship, then she slammed her fist down onto the call button.

The wait was agonizing.

Chewie made a clean head shot on a man who was clambering over the barricade, and while he was flung away to bonelessly sprawl face down across the deck, his shielding prevented his death. He got his hands beneath him and shook his spinning head.

And the holoprojector kept ringing.

Omar was forced to skewer his attacker with the lightsaber while another man climbed over the mess unit. He traded shots with Tom who took two to his left shoulder and arm. Omar couldn't quite pull the lightsaber free fast enough.

And the holoprojector kept ringing.

Finn was pinned with his back to the floor, fighting with every muscle in his body to keep the barrel of a blaster from being pressed against his forehead. Poe twisted beneath the weight of another man in time to dodge the downward strike of a buzzing vibroblade - he stretched to reach for his blaster but his fingertips were still too far away to do much more than nudge it.

And the holoprojector kept ringing.

"Come on," Rey sobbed beneath her breath, even as a deadly green bolt zipped past her face close enough to blister her skin. The shots she was firing were not enough to keep them from coming after her. She should have let Finn finish bringing down their shields. She should have snapped Sonora Deshra's neck when she'd had the chance, if she'd known then that they'd have to take this ship back the hard way anyway. She should never have traded Ben Solo - he should be here with her now. This fight should be over and won.

And suddenly... the holoprojector stopped ringing.

"Son of a sarlacc pit!" cried a voice from the other end. Like a gift from the Force itself, it was Sonora Deshra. "There! See?! Was that so hard?! Will you stop fighting me now!? Let's just get this over with! Mother of Makers!"

Her voice was high and tight with fear and exasperation - she was clearly screaming at Ben Solo. Rey clamped a hand over her mouth at the sight of him, but did nothing to stifle her tears. This might be the last glimpse she'd ever get of him.

He was standing tall and dark and straight, but his shoulders were rigid and there was blood trickling from his nose and from his brow, seeping down the length of his scar. He never turned to face them. His eyes were far away somewhere else, but not as dead and hollow as they usually were. They were filled with something this time... something tough to discern. Not something she'd ever truly seen him openly display, except maybe once... in the temple ruins, at the foot of the staircase leading to the old lightsaber forge. He was staring at something. Something he didn't want to see. She prayed it wasn't his death. She prayed she wouldn't bear witness to his execution before she could get away to do something about it.

"Teryl, is that you?" Sonora Deshra cried as she squinted and leaned in over her console. Her face became a giant sphere above the projector, obscuring Rey's view of anything else, let alone Ben Solo. She'd only then noticed how quiet it had become within the commons room aboard the freighter.

"This is Dale," called one of the men left behind the barricade. He waved as he stood up from his position, removing his helmet and approaching the dais. "Teryl's dead." The accusation in his voice was unmistakable, but honestly... he knew what this was the instant he set foot on this ship. Rey had absolutely zero pity for the man.

Slowly, one by one, the other men began to let go, stand up, back away, and relax. No one holstered their weapons, but no one made any move to provoke any further violence. Quickly, Maz rushed to pick up Poe's fallen blaster and return it to him, handing Finn back his datapad in the process. Rey herself skipped around the barricade to retreat into the mess unit where she could help Omar assess Tom's condition and help him to his feet.

"Su cuy kar'taylii. Su cuy ti Ka'ra," Sonora told them heavily, with reverence.

"Says the dar'manda who got herself dishonored by surrendering to her enemy like a coward."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Sonora droned as she backed away and claimed a seat, crossing her arms. Ben Solo never budged an inch from where he stood. "Talk all you want, ori'jagyc, but I'm the one who's caught your bounty. He ain't coming back to that ship. You're dead in the water."

"Good hunt, then," the man named Dale responded as he leaned with one hand on his hip. "What do you want?"

"You know what I want," she told him, a gleam of danger in her eyes beneath the heavy set of her silver brow. "I'm your matriarch still. And now you know it." She leaned forward and placed her elbows on her knees, steepling her fingers before her chin. "I have a new buyer."

"You're bluffing," Dale scoffed at her.

"Why would I?" Sonora spread her arms wide. "Look, he's here, he's alive - you know how many offers are on the table? You dishonor me - why wouldn't I steal from you?"

"You dishonored yourself."

"And I aim to change that. Right here, right now. Tell you what, I'll make you a deal, ad'ika." Which stood to reason. Sonora Deshra was all about her deals. She pointed at him from the end of a blithe, loose wrist. "If you can get here before I close this deal... you can have him."

"Wha..." Rey breathed, ice cold shock draining the blood from her face. But before she could protest any further, someone took her hand.

And pressed something into it.

It was Tom. He'd given her the mechanism that cut the fuel lines on the yacht.

A plan began to form in her mind. She sucked in a shaky breath to calm her nerves and temper her expectations. She had to remain calm. Cool, natural, convincing, and calm.

"I'm sending the coordinates along this frequency. You should have no problem, we haven't gotten far... unless you really think there's a whole lot of honor in hunting down little children..."

The passive aggressive way Sonora slyly smiled at him through the one lifted corner of her mouth was a crushing blow to the ego of any man. The one named Dale only huffed and shook his head at her in incredulity. His manhood affronted and his fight pointless and over, he finally returned his weapon to its holster.

"Do you have them?" he sighed and asked a partner next to him, referring to the stated set of coordinates. His colleague only gave him a crisp nod of affirmation. "Fine," he finally acquiesced to the floating blue image of Sonora Deshra hovering above the holoprojector. "Have it your way. But don't wait on our account. We've taken heavy fire and we've, uh..." he frowned over his shoulder at Rey. She returned his steely gaze, eye for eye. "We've had some casualties."

"Don't worry, my friend," Sonora chuckled at him, smug and satisfied with her win. "I'll keep them talking as long as I can." And with that, she cut the connection.

"Take the yacht," Rey blurted before the last remaining pops of static had fizzled out of the air.

"W-what...?" the man turned to her in the middle of dumping his huge bucket-shaped helmet back over his head.

"You can send a shuttle for your dead and your injured - we'll give you safe harbor. But if you're going to chase your bounty, you should take the yacht. It's faster than your Corvette."

He narrowed his eyes at her with suspicion, searching for her angle and trying to decipher her bluff.

"Why should we trust you...?" he asked in all fairness.

"Because our ship's on fire!" she cried, letting a taste of her true emotions color her voice and season the pot. "We've got three terrified children we'd like to get to safety, and the sooner we reach Takodana the better."

"The thing is of no consequence to us," Maz stood and spoke, waving a dismissive hand before her. "We stole it from someone else who will pay a deductible to have it replaced sometime next week. It's a non-issue. This is Kylo Ren we're talking about. We've already traded him for _this_ ship. Go." She waved that same hand over her head. "Go do the galaxy a favor. The faster the better. And get that yacht out of our hold. If you take it, you may still have a shot. If you'll pardon the pun. Consider it payment in full, to purchase your expedient absence."

And for one tense and restive, nail-biting moment Rey held her breath. Dale and his clansmen all looked at each other and shrugged. They collected their knives and powered down their weapons. They shouldered the bodies of their fallen like nothing more than sacks of raw tubers. Dale let his helmet fall over his eyes.

"You expecting a cut or something?" his tinny, stuffy voice asked.

"I'm expecting you to leave!" Rey yelled at the man, throwing a stiff hand toward the exit. "I don't give a flying piece of bantha crap what you do with that yacht - just take it and go! You've done enough already!"

She hoped her outburst was enough. She'd compel him through the Force if she had to... but she hoped she wouldn't have to. And then casually Dale tapped two fingers to his helm as a weak sort of farewell salute before he made his way toward the passage that lead to the hangar bay.

"Have it your way, then. Pleasure doing business with you."

And then they were gone.

* * *

"Woah, woah, woah - hold up! It's me, little buddy!"

Rey looked up from the fire she was smothering to see Poe standing before the open door to the old captain's bedchamber. On the other side was the rotund and rolling form of BB-8 with all working arms extended, for all intents and purposes looking like an oversized, white and orange spider. He'd sprung forth with everything sharp, pointy, and flaming he had in order to face off against whatever opened the door - behind him she could see the three children huddled together on the bed. The little droid squealed like a happy flock of birds when he found his would-be attacker was actually his oldest friend.

"It's alright, it's alright," Poe cooed at them all, rubbing BB-8's shiny metal head, "it's all over. It's okay now."

But it wasn't. It wasn't okay... and it wasn't over either. Rey rolled up the charred and tattered blanket she'd been using and tossed it into the compactor chute before stomping a straight, hurried line toward the cockpit, all business. Behind her she heard the air leave Lena Entero's lungs as her father scooped her up into his arms.

"Dammit, girl... you okay? Stand back - lemme look at you."

"I'm fine, daddy. Really."

"Are you sure? Did they touch you?"

"What?! No! Ew!"

"And don't think I didn't notice what you were doing! What did I tell you about guns on spaceships?!"

"Daddy -"

"Guns on spaceships, Lena!"

"You told me not to miss! I didn't miss!"

"Anyone know where I can find a mop?" Finn called from the doorway to the corridor beyond the commons. "Chewie's got the fire out in engineering, but the floor's a bloody mess." And then Rey knew he saw her. She knew he could read her like a book, more than anyone in this galaxy. She knew he wouldn't miss her intensity, and the fevered pace of her movements. She braced herself for the incoming line of interrogation. "Oh, Rey, I'm... I'm sorry. That was probably a little insensiti...uh, whatcha doin'? What's going on?"

She already had the signal dialed in. It was already feeding their navigation systems. She was already spooling up their drive array. It was the same set of coordinates that Sonora Deshra had given the Mandalorians... just procured from a different source.

"I put Leia's bracelet on him before I let him go," she answered over her shoulder without looking up from her work. She didn't want to see his face. She didn't want to have this argument. She didn't want to waste any time - there was no time to waste. Sonora Deshra would only talk for so long.

"Uh...huh. Okay," was all he had to say, and in her mind's eye, she could see him locking questioning eyes with Poe Dameron, who would most certainly interject with his perfected and famous -

"Whoa, wait - what?!"

"I have the same coordinates Sonora Deshra sent her men. If we hurry, we can get there before it's too late."

"Where, exactly? And to do what?"

She'd already laid in a flight path. She'd already turned the helm about. She punched the throttle then spun around to face them. She couldn't avoid them any longer.

"We have to go rescue Ben Solo."

"Wait, wait, wait," Poe chuckled acrimoniously. He pointed a finger down at the deck. "Didn't we just trade this ship for that homicidal maniac...?"

"There's no need for namecalling -"

"And now you want to put the homicidal maniac _back_ on this ship?"

"I'll take the shuttle then. I'm not asking you to go with me."

"I know you're not asking me to go with you. I'm asking why _you're_ going."

"I know this is difficult to understand -"

"Understand?! What's for me to understand?! This isn't about me! This is about the Mandalorians who just tried to kill us! Don't you think they'll find that a little rude?! They set this ship on fire, Rey! With children on board!"

"Those Mandalorians are stranded in the middle of space right now," she told him as she tossed the little black box out onto the deck. It skittered to a stop next to the holoprojector. "I cut the toggle on their fuel line. They're not getting any closer."

"They still have the Corvette."

"And when they get back here, we'll be gone. We've got a head start. If we don't delay -"

"Okay, but what about Rose and the Zephyr? They're just sitting and waiting -"

"In town, where they're safe!" she yelled, her temper rising. Something bitter and shameful and real and necessary was filling her eyes with tears. She had to make him see. "Right now they're probably having a great time," she flung a hand over her head, "people watching and soaking up the sun! Maybe having lunch! Ben Solo is fighting for his life! We know he is, we can do something about it, and you want me to just... leave him behind?! Knowing they're going to kill him?!"

"I... I..."

"It's murder! Look." She balled her hands into fists and fought against her rage. She drew a long inhale and begged desperately for calm and reason. For focus... and discipline. The minutes were slipping by. "I know... what he is to you. I know... what he's done. But aren't we better than this? What do we stand for, if we're not?"

She glanced up to meet Omar's eyes and was surprised to find him smiling at her, swaying slowly as he snugly held his daughter to his chest.

"We... aren't the good guys if all we ever do is blow things up. They blow us up, so we blow them up, so they blow us up again." She sliced her hands through the air. "We're just another weapon! What does it matter who started it?! That's the whole point! It _doesn't_ as long as we keep blowing each other up - that's what they want!

" _We_ have to draw our line in the sand and decide who we are. And to me? We're the only place left in this galaxy that's a _safe place_ \- a place for a second chance. This Resistance was my second chance to find a family that loves me enough to keep me - to find a place where I belong." She pointed across the commons to her friend. "The Resistance was a place where Finn could find a life with meaning and a purpose that was right for him. And now he's been joined by others just like him. The Resistance was a place where General Leia could finish the work she started all of those years ago.

"This Resistance, these people standing right here in this room - we are the only chance this galaxy stands against total annihilation. We are this entire galaxy's last, best hope for a second chance.

"And I know what he's done. I know his crimes. I know the blood on his hands. He knows it too, that's why he's with us." She jabbed a finger out before her. "Show me one person in this room whose hands are clean!

"What was Finn doing when you met him?!" she yelled at her General. "How did you meet?!"

"I was destryoing the village of Tuanul," Finn answered for him, gravely.

"That's right! And how many other villages did you destroy before that one?! We've never asked, have we?! Because it doesn't matter! You're here now! And what about Paige Tico?!" she turned her attention back to Poe. "Does Rose know her sister is dead because of an order _you gave_?! Or was it her duty to know the risks?!"

Poe's face darkened, but not in anger. He sucked in a sharp breath, he closed his eyes, and his mouth fell open. He passed a hand through his hair, over his brow, and to cover his face. She knew it was a low blow, she regretted it the instant she said it. But this war was no longer what they'd thought it was. It was grey and blurry and messy and complex, and tiptoeing around the truth wasn't going to do anyone a single bit of good anymore. Honesty was their armor now, and they would find their strength in confronting it.

"That blood? That's all over the floor in engineering?" she whispered through a throat that was threatening to tighten and close. There was so much blood in there that she could smell it all the way up the hall. "I did that. And it's easy to rationalize that it was them or us. But it doesn't change the fact that those men had mothers and wives. Or husbands, even. They had families. And they aren't going home to them tonight.

"I did that.

"You know, Leia told me something once, and it's stuck with me. She said, 'war has a particular philosophy.' It's true. It's true. I think it's the very thing we use to validate our horrors, and justify our atrocities. It's the lullaby we use to sing ourselves to sleep at night. It's the lie we use to convince ourselves that this blood we've spilled is the reason we're the good guys and they're the bad guys. But that's not what the Resistance is to me. It's not my philosophy.

"This is the place we came to be better than what we were." She straightened her fists at her sides. "This is a place we came to make the galaxy better. We came here to change, and make change. We came here to make a difference, all of us. We came here for a second chance.

"So why is it okay for all of us, but it's _not_ okay for him?!"

The deck became so quiet she could hear her echoes fade. She could hear the pings and whirs of the cooling fans on BB-8's onboard processing unit. She could hear Lena sniffle as she rubbed her face into her father's shirt, warmed by the pillow of his chest. She could even hear her own tears fall if she listened hard enough. And then, finally, someone broke the silence.

"She's right."

It was Finn.

"She is," he said again. He lifted a hand and let it fall to his side. "I don't know anything about the dark side of the Force... but I remember Snoke. I remember what it's like to live inside the First Order. And I know what it takes to leave it. You don't try to leave unless you really, _really_ mean it. And I believe he means it. She's right. We need to go back."

Rey thought her chest would explode, just burst wide open with the sobs she fought so hard to contain. She closed her eyes in relief, and rolled them back in her head. Her lips were quivering, her knees were shaking. She let her tears fall when she looked back to Poe Dameron, whose face was wide and open with anguish, guilt, and a soul-deep weariness that cleaved the very heart of his indecision.

"He is the last person in this entire galaxy that's anything close to a fully trained Jedi," Rey reminded him. "He's powerful. We need him. And what's more than that... he's Han Solo's son, Poe.

"He's General Leia's _son_. Please. All she ever wanted was to bring her son home. Please."

"Please," cried another voice from the door to the old captain's bedchamber. A small, thin voice. Poe turned to see the slim, dark haired form of a boy peering around the frame of the entryway. It was Ali. "He almost died trying to save me. He told me he would take me home. He's sorry for the things he did. He wants to go home, too. He's just scared. He needs help."

Poe Dameron stumbled a little when the curve of BB-8's frame bumped against his knee.

"You too, little buddy?" Poe asked the droid in a voice that was on the verge of breaking. Rey thought she might have gone a bit too far with the whole Paige Tico thing. But the man just wiped his face and smiled sadly down at his favorite little flight partner.

"See?" he told him. "This is what it's like to be out of the cockpit and behind a desk." BB-8 dressed him down with a series of bleeps and whistles that minced no words about the clear view he saw of the man sliding the yacht sideways through the hangar bay force field. "Okay, okay, okay," Poe admitted reluctantly with a self-effacing laugh, "I know you told me I'd fly again. Next time I won't do it without you. I promise."

He gave the dome of the droid's head a couple light taps, a sign of affection between the two. Then he turned his eyes to Rey. The fire in them had died, but he didn't look defeated. He simply looked like a man who'd been reminded of something he'd forgotten. He lifted the corner of his mouth at her.

"You're right. You are. I don't have to like him, and I don't trust him," he pointed a finger at her, "and he does _not_ get free reign on this ship, okay? He stays under lock and key until he proves himself. But you're right. I'll give him one chance. Let's go do it. For Leia. Dial it in."

"I already did," she confessed, twiddling her fingers together as she twisted one ankle behind her. "We'll, uh... we'll be there in a few minutes.

All he could do was laugh and shake his head.

"Of course you did."

* * *

Kylo Ren knew that his stun cuffs still had teeth, even if they were nowhere near their controller. He knew that if he struggled against them too strongly, they'd tighten, cutting off circulation and possibly refracturing his recently healed right arm. He did his best to fiddle with the lock through his connection with the Force, but it was difficult to find focus while an angry Mandalorian matriarch was impatiently shoving him down the exit ramp and out onto the open floodplain.

It was a shameful waste of an otherwise beautiful day. The marshy meadow sprawled as far as the eye could see, nestled sweetly in the lee of two towering sentinel peaks, hazy and resplendent in the pink and yellow, pearly morning sun. The dew on the tall, soft grasses dotted his pant legs, and the low, soft hum of insects sung a musical harmony paired against the whispery hush of the nearby river. The air was mild with not even so much as a breeze - still and dreamlike and perfect.

Except, of course, for the three grotesque figures standing before him like dead, black trees.

"There," Sonora grunted as she gave him one last push. He resisted the urge to spin around with both cuffed fists swinging when he nearly stumbled onto his face. "Te koor cuy'ani. He's all yours. But I feel compelled to tell you as the finder for this particularly nasty piece of merchandise, I don't take returns and I don't make refunds. I don't care how much trouble he gives you. And he _will_. And let me know if you change your mind and want me to shoot 'im. Been itching to all damned day. Even give you a discounted rate. Now if you'll excuse me," she dipped lightly at the waist by way of a courteous bow, "I have airspace to scan and a clan to wait for. Have fun."

And with that, she disappeared back into the hold of the transport ship.

Leaving him alone with... them.

And it was like waking up to that nightmare again... the same one he had over and over and over when he was little. The one that set him to screaming, the one that chased his sleep away the way a candle would banish the dark. The one that injected fear into his mother like the sinking stab of a needle. The one his father tried to ignore. The vision of a thing - of a tall black thing, blacker than the black of night - with shining eyes and flowing shadows standing in the corner of his bedroom just... staring at him. Searching for him. Reaching out for him. Trying to find... trying to touch. And they brought their demon with them.

They always came back for him, and here they were again. Except this time he could not wake up.

And there was no one coming to help him.

Now, just as much as then, there was no comfort. There were no arms to hold him. There were no words of encouragement or understanding, no tincture to dissolve his fears. He was completely and wretchedly alone.

And there was no one coming to help him.

He was unarmed and defenseless. His wrists were bound by a lock his mind was too paralyzed to try and open. And these creatures were just as strong in the Force as he was. He was completely at their mercy.

And there was no one coming to help him.

His mother was dead. His father was dead. His teacher was dead. His master was dead. And the girl... Rey... She had a purpose. She was meant for so much more than simply his fledgling and embarrassing attempts at ingratiation and nervous affection. She'd made her trade correctly.

So there was no one coming to help him.

With trembling destitution and chattering teeth, he quietly and gracefully resigned himself to his fate. His dignity was all he had left. Even if the devil himself found some value in seeking him, it was better than no value at all. So he squared his feet in a steady stance that kept his knees from shaking. He straightened his shoulders, he lifted his chin, and he looked those shadows deep into their cold, pale, shining eyes.

"What do you want?" he asked.

And their cold seeped into him... seeped into his mind where their words leaked down the pathways of his consciousness like the icy drips of glacial melt. Their voices whispered in unison.

"You still have a Destiny, Ben Solo."

Flashes and echoes of Snoke crashed through his mind, racing against each other one after one. Images of a ghastly deformed face with yellowed teeth and claws that claimed him, scarred him to his very soul. Foul breath, hot and wet against his ear as those claws stroked him in ways that left him vulnerable, teasing him and tantalizing him with promises of Destiny...

In an instant he thought he might throw up.

"There is no such thing as Destiny," he choked over the acid that had risen in his throat. "There is only Choice."

"You are Destined to make a Choice."

He lurched backwards as they strode forward, gliding noiselessly across the grass without disturbing so much as a blade. Before his brain could even react, they surrounded him. No matter what they did now, he couldn't get away. He knew they wanted him alive for some purpose but...

There was no one coming to help him.

He felt their frigid fingers land, freezing, on his shoulders as if they carried the very vacuum of space with them everywhere they went. He shivered as if scoured by the wintry winds of Hoth.

"You must face your fears, Ben Solo. You must decide what you want." No. No, no. He already answered this... this... no. Not this again. "You must confront your -"

"STOP!" he roared at them. "I already -! Just... just stop! I can't... keep..."

The question had no answer. The question was just a symptom. It was a clear and present signal of his own impending mental breakdown. There was only so much a man could take. He was cracking at the seams.

Why was he always so stupid? Why did he keep falling for this trap?

Why didn't he tell someone?

Why didn't he say no?

"Ben Solo -"

"Just tell me!" he screamed in panic and despair. "Tell me what you want me to say and I'll say it!"

"You must..." they hissed once more as the hands gripping his shoulders began to bruise and punish and numb. "You cannot move forward if -"

But something caught their attention. Kylo Ren had heard it too, had felt it. The ground beneath his feet had begun to rumble and quake. The low pulsing growl of a starship engine in atmo began to bounce and rebound between the two stone pillars of their neighboring mountains. He watched the ghostly face before him turn and look toward the sky. Out of a bizarre reflex, a masochistic one that was interested in seeing how things could possibly get even worse, he turned to see what had caught his captor's attention.

And then an enormous shadow passed over them all as a giant freighter eclipsed their view of the brilliant morning sun. And not just any freighter.

 _Her_ freighter.

He couldn't breath. He couldn't speak. He couldn't even think, his mind was completely shattered. All he could do was let his mouth fall open and let his hands hang loose and limp from the rigid metal confines of the stun cuffs that still made him a prisoner. He begged his eyes not to fill with tears. His brain grappled for an explanation - it tried to convince him that her Resistance was really only there to make sure the job was done... to see him finished off and then be on their merry way, unencumbered. He would have made any bargain with hope if it meant it would stop torturing him like this.

He didn't dare to dream she had come back for him.

But then the craft landed and the exit ramp clapped to the ground, sending up a spray of dew and mud and pollen. From within tromped a troop of figures, each one with pistols high - four men including Omar, whose long dust coat billowed behind him as he marched. There was also a slight young girl and the imposing form of Chewbacca with his fearsome bowcaster sighted and ready. And then the blazing red flash of his own lightsaber purred and sang from within the hands of Rey, who gripped it tightly as her purposeful boot steps pounded their way across the wet grass.

"Let him go."

Her voice was even, but her tone was unmistakable. He'd come to know how she sounded when she'd made up her mind about something. She wasn't going to repeat herself.

The Navigators didn't leave him, but they did turn to face their newcomers. There was strangely no malice in their movements, but an odd, quizzical fascination. A curiosity. They exchanged wordless glances with each other, but people like Kylo Ren and Rey knew there was much more being said beneath the surface, transmitted down the silver lines of the Force.

"You heard the lady," called a voice who weirdly turned out to be Poe Dameron. "You need to back away. Nice and slow. Hands where we can see 'em."

"What in all ti Ka'ra is going on out here?!" Sonora Deshra cried as she reemerged from the hold of the transport ship, presumably summoned by the arrival of a freighter that was not carrying the clansmen she was expecting.

"Hey, hey! Hey! Stop right there - right there!" Omar yelled at her as he advanced quickly, weapon trained between her eyes. He gave her no time to react, but the huntress had no reaction for him. This wasn't the first barrel in her life that had greeted her so cordially, and it likely wouldn't be the last. She simply shrugged and picked lazily at her teeth with a fingernail, leaning one hip against the hydraulic lift for the ramp.

But then one of... them spoke. Alone, with the airy slip of a breathy voice that reduced them all to unnerved silence.

"Come, child."

One long, spindly arm was extended toward the woman who stood before them, with her gnashing teeth and lit lightsaber. Every thread of tension in her body was a direct and unequivocal warning. There was nothing inviting about the gesture that beckoned her, but the compulsion to let the saber droop and follow the call was akin to a magic spell. He watched her approach with dread... who would defend them if they couldn't defend themselves? And yet a seed of doubt was beginning to take root in his mind.

They wanted him alive. They wanted him to make a choice. What did that mean?

Snoke was dead. What master did they serve now? Did they, even? What did they want?

Something didn't make sense here.

"Your hand," it commanded her. Something sank to the pit of his belly when he watched her extinguish the blade, but his quest for answers kept him from voicing his concerns. She clipped the saber to her belt and held out her hand, but her eyes landed on his. They widened and he could see her fears ticking in her mind like clock hands, never quite landing on whether or not she'd made a huge mistake in lowering her weapon.

"You," he was instructed by the one nearest him. Unwilling to abandon her in her risk, he held out his hand as well. His eyes never left hers. They were in this together. And then the third Navigator withdrew an object from within the folds of its heavy black robe.

"You must confront your fears," it hushed a soft sigh. "You must make a choice. It is your Destiny."

He felt the deathly cold pallor of alien skin as it slithered beneath his hand. It guided him until his fingers brushed up against Rey's. Her warmth was an oasis - the plump swells of their fingertips rested against each other once more, and he could feel the pulse of the Force that bound them, connecting them like one heartbeat that bled its way across the stars. And in that moment he fell entranced, enthralled by the silky soft embrace of her companionship. His fear of abandonment ebbed away as if washed by warm spring rains. He felt rescued.

And then the third Navigator laid its object across the plane of their twinned hands. It was thin, metallic, and square.

It was a datapad. Clearly of First Order issue.

"W-wha...?" Rey stammered, but she wasn't given the opportunity to inquire further. Promptly, the Navigators stepped away, the hems of their garments sweeping evenly and eerily across the grass.

"The Infinite Engine is ruin and death," they sang in unison. "It was never meant to be found. We could not stop him. We were meant to lead him astray. We failed. Until you ended him. This Destiny is yours. You must confront your fears. You must make a choice."

"I don't understand," Rey asked, "what choice?"

Only one word was their answer.

"Together."

They then quietly backed away before turning to step single file back up the ramp that lead them into their own vehicle. Kylo Ren caught the datapad with both of his hands when Rey raised hers to block her eyes from the sudden blast of swampy muck that burst from the lift of the craft. Slowly the atomized cloud of mud and water dispersed, condensing out of the air to deposit itself on every available surface, from their shoulders and hair to the sunny tips of dancing marshy plants.

"Well," Sonora broke the new silence, slapping her hands over the beads of sludge that now coated her pant legs, "that was fun." She threw a thumb over her shoulder, indicating the Resistance's last good transport ship. "So it's safe to assume from all of yer guns that you'll be taking this ship back with you, yeah?"

"You bet yer ass that's a safe assumption," Omar growled, pistol still held high.

"Fair enough."

She sauntered the rest of the way down the exit ramp to where she met Kylo Ren, shoulder to shoulder. Her eyes held a glint of amusement as she peered up at him and pondered the perfect set of parting words. Her gaze didn't linger far from the rest of the squad behind him, however. She'd been their prisoner the day before, same as him. She clearly had a lingering doubt that they'd allow her to part company so easily, but the truth remained - she'd upheld her end of her bargain. And everyone came out alive.

"Hope there's no hard feelings, ad'ika," she said to him. "Just business, and now our business is concluded. But if you ever find yourselves in need of some folks that are heavy on firepower, but a little light on the ol' moral compass," she tucked two fingers into a breast pocket to retrieve a small data chip, "give us a call." Out of reflex and propriety, Rey accepted the little token from the woman. "I can make you a fair quote.

"Te koor cuy'ani, aruetiise," she smiled back at them over her shoulder as she stuffed her hands into her pockets and started her trek off into the wilds where she belonged. "Ret'urcye mhi!"

"How will you get back to your clan?" Kylo Ren called after her on a strange compassionate impulse that seemed to come out of nowhere.

"I'm their matriarch again," she shouted back at him, turning a circle in the sun, her face lifted and her arms wide. "They'll come find me!" And with that she kept on walking until she slipped away unseen, disappearing at last through the thick curtain of tall grass.

But that made him think of something.

"How..." he began. But before the finished thought could climb its way out of him, Rey closed her hand around his and ran her thumb across the top of it. He looked down at her, just there, standing so close... just inside his bubble of space. Just close enough to feel... intimate. Close enough to make him nervous. He wasn't sure what to do, what to say... Was he supposed to lace his fingers into hers, or...?

But then she slid her hand up his wrist, and he felt something tug away from where it had been lodged beneath the cuff still clamped there, something he hadn't noticed before. She pulled it away and held it up between the two of them, giving it a good jiggle. The thing that flopped around over her fingertips looked like a bracelet with a bright blue object secured in the center. If he wasn't mistaken, it looked like it might be a...

"It's a homing beacon," she supplied, waggling her eyebrows at him as she pinched her bottom lip between her teeth. "It belonged to your mother. I put it on you before Sonora took you away. That's how we found you."

 _We_ found you. Plural. She may not have noticed what she said, but he did. And though his pride would have preferred to cast his eyes far away across the amber plain, his chin held strong and high, he could not avoid the pull that turned him around to face them all as they stood there staring back at him. He felt like the black hole at the epicenter of the galaxy. Even the Turncoat Trooper, Finn, who rested his weight on one leg as he holstered his weapon, locked eyes with him as he pursed his lips and gave a curt nod.

Even Poe Dameron exchanged a look before he grew obviously uncomfortable, failing to disguise his unease by coughing behind his hand before beckoning Chewbacca to join him in preparing the transport for flight. Even Chewbacca mewled at him and landed a heavy paw on the top of his head as he passed him by, mussing tangled knots into his thick black hair by way of affection.

He'd even caught the eye of young Lena Entero, who quickly lost interest at the sight of a brightly colored, multi-winged insect that plotted its vector past her face.

And even her father, Omar, whose guns had found his belt. He pushed aside the long drape of his coattails to slide his hands into his pockets as he made his slow walk across the field.

"Betcha didn't think anyone was coming for you, did ya?" he asked as he reached him, clapping a hand to his shoulder and giving him a shake.

"No..." he whispered so lightly he wasn't sure he could be heard over the soft tickle of a low breeze. "Why... why did you..."

"Because," Rey told him, reaching up to gently slide her slim, sweet fingers up his jaw, behind his ear, around his cheek and into his hair.

And everything just seemed to... stop behind that floodgate of touch. Paused, as if time was nothing more than a cottony, fuzzy little spore suspended by air and dew and sunlight. Careless and free and heedless of time or direction. Just captured as one moment in time, the two of them and them alone. He dove headlong into the depth of her eyes, finding that place where she mirrored him, the place where their two halves met. That tender spot, the spot that hurt, the spot that left a scar... but had finally managed to begin to heal. That place that told a story of two people who understood loss... who understood pain. Who understood power, and what it meant to be used for it. Who understood what it meant to be thrown away. And it was from that place where he heard her speak as he stared so deep within her.

"We don't leave anyone behind."

And it was like he drew breath for the first time. It was like his head had finally breached the surface of the water, just once. The cold receded and he could finally feel the sun on his skin. His heart ached still but with something new this time, something that wasn't pain. Something that swelled. Something that throbbed and pounded. Something that had been caged for so long that was finally, finally being set free.

"Let's go, buddy," Omar told him as he steered him around. "I wanna get a look at that arm. I think we might be able to get that splint off, if you're lucky."

It was something so strong and so powerful it exhausted him. It took every minute of the past day and pressed it down on him. His mouth was dry, his belly was empty, and his eyelids were heavy. His head was in a vice and he was just so tired even though he'd already slept for two days. He felt like he could sleep for two more.

But he would sleep well tonight. For the first time in... in maybe ever.

Because he'd found a little spark of hope.

* * *

MANDO'A:

 _-Ni cuy dar'manda: I am soulless/dishonored_

 _-ni cuy Mando'ade: I am a daughter of Mandalore!_

 _-Mando'ad draar digu: A Mandalorian never forgets!_

 _-di'kut: idiot/dumbass_

 _-ba'buir: grandmother_

 _-ori'jagyc: big man_

 _-ad'ika: son_

 _-Su cuy kar'taylii. Su cuy ti Ka'ra.: He is held in our hearts. He is with the fallen kings._

 _-Te koor cuy'ani.: The deal is complete._

 _\- aruetiise: outsiders_

 _\- Ret'urcye mhi: goodbye / we'll meet again_


	22. Ch 22: Fears and Choices

**Chapter Twenty-Two: Fears and Choices**

It was the third time Kylo Ren had woken up in so many hours. There was no reason for it. He couldn't understand it.

Well... okay, maybe the first time had been understandable. A psychosomatic pinch had awakened him, the physical memory of the pin prick the doctor had given him upon locking him back in his jail cell inside the old captain's bedchamber. Safely behind the golden amber energy barrier once more, the man had felt secure in removing his stun cuffs in order to unstrap the splint on his right arm and assess his overall measure of health. He'd then injected him with one final round of bacta then called it a night. Which felt more like mid-morning, relatively. Mid-morning after pulling an all-nighter. Running heavy combat drills. For several hours. Even now as he lay there, revelling in how far apart he could stretch his arms from each other, groaning with satisfaction as the joints in his shoulders and his spine popped and released, he could feel the burning tingle of the serum coursing through his veins like hot paste, healing every scrape and cut in its wake.

And he supposed the second time he'd awakened was understandable as well. He'd had to use the 'fresher. He was only human.

But the third time made him question how natural those other two had been. Something was interrupting his sleep. And it made no sense - these people had come back for him. He obviously held some value to them as their prisoner, enough to threaten violence, guns blazing, in their precipitous press for his release. Laying there in his admittedly scratchy, lumpy, albeit modestly comfortable utilitarian bed, he knew there was no better place for him in the whole of the universe. No one was trying to kill him here. He was wanted here, at least for some purpose. He was supposed to be here.

He was safe.

So... what was it? Maybe his head was still throbbing. Maybe he just wasn't tired after

having recently slept for two days straight. Maybe he was just hungry. Or thirsty. Maybe his mind was buzzing with an overwhelming sense of debt for his undeserved rescue.

Maybe he was afraid of facing his nightmares.

But then his stomach growled, so he settled on hunger. Lamenting the loss of his drowsy, dreamy warmth, he shucked himself out from underneath his blankets and dropped his sock feet to the cold, hard tiles beneath his bed. He ran a hand through his thick mop of black hair to comb the bed tangles from it, letting it fall and fan all around his face. Blinking the sleep from his eyes, he finally rose and crossed to the 'fresher to hang his mouth between his cupped hand and the running faucet for a long, cool drink. He rubbed an eye and wobbled unsteadily on his feet for a moment before he approached the door to the chamber.

It was shut.

A shut door was unremarkable to most people. A shut door meant something very different to Kylo Ren, very different from what it meant to people who'd never spent their lives as an open book to someone. People who didn't know what intrusion on privacy really meant. People who didn't know what it was like to never stop feeling naked... who never knew what it was like to spend your life with someone endlessly staring at your naked, wide open soul. With a delight that crossed the line into something truly abominable.

So many times... so many... he remembered the words. Words that told him how beautiful he was, how special, how strong. How singular he was throughout all of the known galaxy. How important. How Destined. How pure was his blood line. Honeyed words... hypnotic words dripping with sugar-coated malintent that only managed to spread him open wider. Willingly. Through coerced consent.

Through deceit.

But this shut door locked all of that away. This shut door was a measure of respect.

And now there were no words, there were no lies. Everything was so... quiet. And not just the ship. Not just the tiny pings and blips from the cockpit outside, alive with the automated processes that held them steady in orbit allowing them a small respite, a chance to rest before setting course for their next destination. Not just the air from the vents, and the pumps that kept their internal atmosphere in constant circulation. Not just the muffled snores from all of the sleeping bodies occupying the crewmans' quarters one deck above his head.

The secret sanctum of his mind was blissfully quiet, the same as when he'd remarked on it to himself back in the old temple ruins. Perhaps that had been what had roused him - an intense and vexing need to celebrate each and every word of his own that he allowed to tumble unbidden and unmasked throughout his mind. He didn't have to examine them, he didn't have to censor them. He didn't have to devote a perpetual fraction of his brain power toward the process of obfuscating and camoflaging his feelings and intentions and meanings.

He no longer needed to satisfy a cruel master who held his every waking thought a hostage through the act of neverending psychic surveillance.

Perhaps he was awake because the sudden loss of that mental load, of that emotional burden, that endless exhaustion... had left him somewhat energized instead.

But there was empty space there now. Space left over where something large and heavy used to sit. And now his inner landscape was like an unfamiliar room. He knew he would adjust, but for now... everything felt strange. Alien. Restless. Maybe... maybe he could just...

No. No, he didn't want to bother her.

The girl.

Rey.

She was in his place now except asleep, of course, whereas sleep eluded him. Where he was tossing and turning, she was weary and drained. She was now someone else's prisoner, too, cowed into submission by a larger set of ideals. Pushed beyond her breaking points - that boundary between necessity and the dark side of the Force. That seductive siren song of limitless power. Power like that had its uses... and its dangers. No one knew better than him, although she was beginning to get a glimpse. He could feel it in her, just as sure as he could reach out to her right now and...

There. Soft, gentle. A delicate touch, a light tap. Nothing that would wake her but just enough to sate the need for contact. To chase away the loneliness. To shine a light in the dark. The light in her was still so bright, and it made him fierce. Stars above help anyone who would come and try to extinguish it. They'd have to go through him.

And they would fail.

But through their bond her sleeping mind was fuzzy, like the static over an open-ended holonet connection. Misty and opaque, like the deep purple swell of a rain cloud. As downy soft as the feathery silk strand of hair she'd wound around her finger at the foot of the lightsaber forge. And at his sides he found his fists were balled at the ends of tight, rigid arms. They were taught with a desire to hold... but he had nothing but thin air. And sudden craving to see the stars.

He pushed the button and lamented the swish of the door as it gave way to reveal the humming, glowing barrier just on the other side of it. He didn't want the sudden break in the silence to alert anyone to his presence. He knew he'd have to face these people eventually... but he prefered them all to be fully rested and alert. Startled, half-asleep people were traditionally known for making poor decisions.

Like destroying Jedi academies. As an example.

And he would prefer to survive any such encounters unscathed. After all, he'd made it this far.

He leaned into the doorframe, craning his neck as far as the barrier would allow, but the angle was bad, he couldn't see into the cockpit. As the commons outside was completely dark and vacant, void of any sign of life, he decided to take an enormous, irresponsible, and likely very stupid risk.

He reached out through the Force and switched off the toggle that brought down the energy barrier outside his door.

Enjoying a rare moment of fr...

Enjoying a temporary daliance outside of his cage, he tiptoed out into the empty hall beyond the entry to the old captain's bedchamber. For a moment he stood stock still, his ears pricked and listening for any motion, consonant, or breath. Satisfied he'd awoken no one, he lightly padded his way across the deck and around the large holoprojector to the short flight of steps that lead into the cockpit. Releasing a deep sigh, he collapsed into the copilot's chair and gazed out onto the glittering field of stars.

If he closed his eyes, he could almost go back to sleep, but that would be unwise. Yet there was something so soothing now about that dark and dotted canvas before him, because now he could just look upon the stars and appreciate their beauty, winking and blinking like colonies of little creatures that were chatting happily with each other across their densely crowded social structure. Which, essentially, was exactly what the galaxy before him was. But instead of having to pick one and focus on it, instead of needing to plot his whole survival around it by getting into its orbit and figuring out the rest later... he could just... stare. Could just inhale... exhale... and stare.

It felt so, so good.

But just as his eyelids began to droop something roused him, thankfully preventing him from nodding off. It was a pulse, like a heartbeat. Or a flutter in his belly, like the loose cadence of a slack drum head. It thrummed again, and this time he sat up straight in his chair. He turned around to look behind him at an object perched on a smooth table top against the wall, back in the commons area. He hung his head in dismay... he knew what had awakened him. What had called to him.

It was the datapad the Navigators had given him.

 _You must confront your fears. You must make a choice._

He knew what it was. He knew what lie waiting for him behind its dimmed and sleeping crystalline display screen. Truths as sharp as blades. Lies that burned like hot coals. Memories that lie smoldering and dead as ash. Pain that bruised and trickled like blood. What lie in that datapad was Snoke. It might as well have been a phylactery, housing the very essence of his soul, waiting to be reanimated. While in truth, the thing was a very simple object, and largely unassuming.

It was Snoke's journal.

The real one. The complete one. Far more than the single line of entry to be found in what Hux had kept in his own private data store.

He didn't even have to open the files to know it - he could feel it. And the hunger gnawing at his belly turned into something cold and sour.

It was indecision. They were right - he would have to make a choice. He knew the thing had information they needed. Whatever Snoke knew about the Infinite Engine was what Hux knew about it, and Hux clearly showed no qualms about using information like that to his advantage. If he had no reservations about fabricating roving armies of vicious, single-minded HK droids, then there was no end to what a devious, conniving mind like that could dream up. They were on the brink of pan-galactic devastation of an unprecedented scale, and the tools they needed to power down that cycle of destruction could only be found inside that journal.

Sandwiched between everything Snoke had seen fit to preserve in the infamy of his lifelong memoir.

Everything. His entire life story... right there.

And it included Ben Solo.

There would be no subversion or misdirection. There would be no saccharine sonnets designed to lure or tantalize or persuade. It would be brutal and direct - candid and honest. Because it would have been private. It would include every word and every deed that befouled an innocent young boy... every move that drove his family away, hardening their hearts as they left him alone and helpless on an island of his own isolation. And furthermore it would give praise to such ruinous destitution as a success. It was a humiliating saga that would serenade its reader with the lurid ballad of Ben Solo's desperation, his loneliness, his lusts, his hurts... and most of all, his stupidity.

Why didn't he say no?

Why didn't he tell someone?

He wanted to drive a lightsaber through its heart. He wanted to shove the thing into the trash compactor and watch it get crushed before it was incinerated along with yesterday's toilet paper and ration bar wrappers. He would have tossed it out the airlock if he thought the Navigators wouldn't just find it again and bring it back.

But he couldn't do any of these things. The information it held was still vital. Which meant... he'd have to share it. With... her. With everyone. Everything. Not only would he have to confront his deepest fears and wounds, but he'd have to expose them to the very people who would shame him for them. Because if he didn't... then the galaxy would be lost.

Unconsciously, he'd left the copilot's chair and crossed the commons to the table. For a brief moment his heart hammered in his chest, vying for escape, preparing for flight. His fingers tapped the cool metal surface of the table before resting lightly there, just there. His life was no longer in danger. His ship was one deck below. His bounty was paid and served - for all Hux knew, he was dead unless Sonora Deshra was so unscrupulous as to report to him the details of her better offer. Which could have been a possibility, except it was much more likely that information like that held its own price tag.

There was a time when Kylo Ren would have taken the knowledge he needed and stormed the Vindicator alone, claiming the Engine for himself through violence and the will of the Force. Through Destiny, Legacy, and strength. He would use it to end this war once and for all, and shape the galaxy into a vision of his own design - one that never strayed far from his thoughts. One that brought an end to the Sith and the Jedi. One that buried their artificial divide - the schism that made them so vulnerable to those who would find profit in their endless animosity.

A vision that likely wasn't terribly different from... hers. Even if their methods... varied.

But didn't he have everything he needed? What was there to stop him?

Was it simply that he needed to collect his lightsaber?

The commons was dim, but he knew the thing was on the table, he could sense it through the Force like a ghost limb. It was sitting with an assortment of other items that had been pulled from the satchel resting at the far end: two other datapads, the first containing the data he'd stolen from Hux and the second he only recognized because it had been in their possession before he'd joined them. There was also a blaster and a pair of spare power packs, but lying next to them was the...

The two split halves of Anakin Skywalker's lightsaber.

Her... lightsaber.

He could take it - take both lightsabers - and go. He could lie in wait and strike at a time when Hux let down his guard. He could end her responsibility before the Trade Federation or the Exchange Syndicate or the Hutt Cartel or Hoersch-Kessel or Killian Arms or Genetech or Adascorp or any number of other stake holders in this war could use her the way they'd used him his entire life. He could make this sacrifice for her. But then...

It wouldn't stop. Would it?

He would just be a new Hux then. And they would make her his enemy.

Again.

An enemy who came back for him - who rescued him when no one else would.

An enemy whose warm fingertips still reached for his in his dreams.

An enemy whose soul was linked with his through the silver, celestial chain of the Force.

An enemy whose strength and spirit he admired to the point of infatuation.

An enemy who'd become an attachment... one he thought he might like to keep.

She was an enemy who had changed his life. And right now - right now while his hand still rested on the table instead of flying over the controls of his in-flight HUD on the Silencer - she wasn't really an enemy at all. She was an ally. She was a comrade at arms, a partner.

She was a friend.

She was a place to come back to. She was a feeling of warmth and recognition and safety. She was someone who found value in him as a man and not a monster. She was a place where he would not be feared for being who he was. And though he knew that he would have to bare his secrets wide open to her and all of these people, strip himself naked for a greater good - though he knew he would have to relive these horrors one by one as they flipped through page after page... he knew that if he was to ask himself what he wanted, what he really wanted, there and in that moment, he knew what he would say.

He wanted to stay. He wanted to have some use. He wanted to put down the knife he'd held at his parents' throats for so long. It had grown heavy. He wanted to go home.

He wanted to form an attachment.

Because if he was going to face this demon again, and everything that had been taken away from him... this was one thing he was going to take back. This was his choice.

So, instead of stealing from her her rightful place in this story... instead of slipping silently away into the night on the wings of a fast starship without even so much as a word let alone a goodbye... he pulled a chair away from the table and sat down, resting his lips against the backs of his folded fingers.

As he turned to stare forlorn at Snoke's journal taunting him from where it lay, its level gaze a harbinger of impending woe, his eye happened to sweep across the silver-blue glint of the crystal still seated inside the mangled Skywalker lightsaber. The low gleam from the walkway lights that lined the long corridor beyond caught its color and its shape, and the unmistakable crack that split the thing in two. As she began to rebuild her hilt, she would need to figure out how to compensate for the unstable bursts of plasma that would bubble and erupt between its two halves, the same as his. He'd designed his hilt to make use of the spare energy, forcing it and directing it into vents - into something he could use. But before she could do anything, she would need good scrap to repair the damage and piece it back together. Some couplings, some raw tubing... the power core still looked to be in good shape, but the heat sink was trash. She'd need wiring, an inner manifold... something to give it back its shape.

While musing over a short laundry list of potential raw materials and where to find them, he happened to notice an object peeking up from behind the satchel at the far end of the table. It was leaning against the wall, nearly invisible exept for the thin, faint shadow it cast. It was the long, cobbled-together rod of Rey's staff. Briefly, he wondered if she'd be willing to part with it, but then...

But then it gave him an idea. A wicked, terrible, wonderful idea he nearly hated himself for having.

She would have to vent the buildup of plasma. She would need to shape it into something she could use.

Gripped by a surge of inspiration, he snatched up the bisected saber hilt from where it lay and began poking and prodding inside. He left the crystal seated in its saddle socket, but he jiggled and dislodged the tiny focusing crystal that was responsible for relaying power through the field energizers and out of the aperture. They would need another one, and more magnets... potentially twice their number. If she was willing to give up the staff, then they'd have the bulk of the hardware they needed. After that it was a matter of procuring those magnets and something to focus the energy, then some wiring, cutters, they could probably get the droids to do the soldering, but they'd still need the connectors for the -

A sudden flash of light interrupted his train of thought. Someone had walked into the mess unit, across the commons.

Ice raced down his spine.

"Damn..." grumbled a salty, sleepy voice that stretched into a yawn. "Ain't this a piece of work. Guess I'll get a drink from the 'fresher."

It was true - the mess unit was a charred ruin. It looked like something he might've done himself with his own lightsaber on a bad day. But then the man turned and gasped as he found himself staring Kylo Ren square in the eye. And he was not where he was supposed to be.

"Woah," Omar Entero breathed with his hands held before him when Ren bolted to his feet. He was caught utterly red-handed. And was clearly deemed to be unpredictable. "It's alright, it's alright. It's okay."

Ren paused, hanging somewhere between standing his ground, asserting his independence... and sidling toward the door to fall back into the easy embrace of obedience. Somewhere between a debt of respect to the people who came back for him, and the insistence of his own inner nature. He didn't know what to do, but his nervous vacillation seemed to break the tension in the room. Omar simply raised a hand to run it through his mussy, late-night hair, and he laughed. It was soft and unaccusatory, even though he shook his head as if he was preparing to scold a child.

"It's alright, kid. Sit back down. It'll be our little secret. Just... don't let anyone else know I let you get away with it, okay?" Like he had a choice. "It's bad for my reputation. You, uh..." he slung a loose hand back and forth in front of him, "you mind if I join you?"

Personable companionship was not Kylo Ren's strong suit. He hadn't been allowed attachments. And even though he didn't find the surly old doctor to be intolerable company, the prospect of socializing and making idle chat twisted something weird in his belly. It was a sad, sorry dichotomy... longing for an end to his countless years of loneliness and yet fearing it so. He'd spent his entire life agonizing over avoiding saying the wrong things to people, his mother, his father, his teacher... Snoke... it was a tough habit to break. He wasn't sure he could. It had become a defense mechanism while the very basics of human discourse still filled him with a queer, unexplainable terror.

But it was also something he recognized was necessary. So he nodded his cautious assent.

The man sauntered to the table and pulled away a second chair, but before he sat down he reached up onto a shelf overhead to retrieve a handful of items - namely, two tin cups and a larger vessel that appeared to be a dented, metal thermos with a screw-top lid. He set them down between them, then gave a small grunt as he twisted his lower back and slid into the chair. He picked up the thermos and gave it a light swish - the liquid inside it audibly sloshed around.

"Say what you will about slave traders and pirates," he began, "they were exploiting young women and that's not something I can abide. But they also had a pretty fine taste in bootleg liquor." He twisted the top off and poured a splash or two of a dark amber colored spirit into each waiting cup - only about enough to be the width of a finger deep. "I don't mind seeing it go to good use, in lieu of their being brought to justice. What do you think?" He pushed one of the cups across the table, then picked up one of his own. He held it up and stared at Kylo Ren expectantly, as if waiting to begin some sort of foreign, uninitiated ritual. Once more, Ren found himself at a loss, and a disadvantage.

The Jedi temple where he'd studied under his uncle in his youth had been remote and secluded from the outside world. They'd been held under tight discipline. The only rebellious activities he'd managed to squeeze into his teenage years had been to steal away late at night on the heels of what few colleagues had allowed him to infringe upon their inner circle. Their idea of scandalous fun had been to pilfer ancient texts and maybe a datapad to cruise the holonet and share hushed whispers and titters about the true nature of the dark side of the Force. And sometimes they'd look up nude pictures of girls.

Liquor was not something they ever got their hands on.

His only experience with the substance had been the one time his father had let him sneak a nip off of his hip flask while his mother wasn't looking. He had been five or six at the time. It had been a secret moment shared solely between himself and his father and no one else, a moment captured forever as a cherished memory. It was something his child mind believed that men did together. It was something fathers and sons did together. And now his father was gone. That tired, old ache snagged at his insides again, like a fish caught on the end of a line.

He was snapped out of his reverie when Omar clinked the edge of his cup against the one dangling from Ren's fingers. He didn't even remember picking it up.

"A toast my old man used to say," the doctor chimed, jiggling his cup and watching the booze whirlpool around inside. "May our nights be long, and our years even longer." And with that, he tossed back his head and swallowed the sum volume of liquid whole. His face pulled into a brief grimace as he clacked the cup back down onto the table and wiped a sleeve against his lips. But before he let his hand fall away his eyes stopped on Ren, nothing more than a stymied young man seated across from him still holding his cup where it was, drooping with uncertainty. A look knitted Omar's brow, one that blended confusion, concern, and curiosity. But all Ren could do was continue to stare at that cup.

"You've, uh..." the doctor whispered. "You've never... uh...? Heh. No. No, of course you haven't."

It felt like a graduation. Like every piece of this new life he accepted chipped away at the old life he'd left behind. Wishing he could share this drink with his dad wasn't going to bring the man back, but taking it would honor his sacrifice. Because it was a step forward for his son.

"You, uh... you don't have to drink it if you don't want to. It's just impolite not to off-"

With swift conviction, Kylo Ren raised the cup, tilted back his head, and tossed the liquid straight down his gullet.

And nearly died. He hacked and spluttered. It was like fire. It was like drinking hyperdrive coolant straight out of the condenser pan. People drink this... on purpose?! Sane, rational people even?! Why?! What joy could it possibly...

But then, as he bent back around to place both palms on the table to stabilize himself while the water cleared from his eyes, the whole world tilted... just slightly... on its axis. The fire ebbed from his throat to pool and settle in his belly, warming him from the inside. Knots in his shoulder blades, the tension in his lower back... little aches and pains from old scars... they all began to fade into the background - still there, but beyond his notice. He felt... numb. But not in the usual way. This numb felt good.

"There y'go," Omar smiled at him, his eyes shining with mischief. "First one's always a head rush." He reached to gather both cups and pour them a second round. After he slid the next dram of homegrown whiskey back across the table, Omar flicked a finger toward the door to the old captain's bedchamber. It was time to address the bantha in the room. "You could do that this whole time, couldn't you?"

This time Kylo Ren was a bit more eager to pick it up. But he didn't power it down like he did the last one. This one he was content to swish and sip. Content to savor and take his time. Get past that first bite and enjoy each wave of warmth as they pinked his cheeks and seeped into his bones one after the other. He only nodded his answer as he pulled another slurp. Of course he could do that this whole time. He was Kylo Ren. The only reason he didn't compell someone else to do it for him was because he hadn't exactly been seeking an audience. And yet... here he was. Once again, his thoughts strayed to the TIE fighter sitting and waiting one deck below him.

"So you choose to be a prisoner, then? Why?"

Choice. Yes. There was only Choice. This was a choice he made for himself. Destiny was nothing more than a dulcet illusion that made slaves out of fools. But that wasn't the whole answer, was it?

"Because..." he sucked down the last of it and reached for the thermos his own damned self. It kept his hands from fidgeting while his mouth was acting a bit more forthright than it probably would have under normal circumstances. Not that these circumstances weren't normal, they were just... kriff, he didn't know. "Because I don't really know where else I could've gone."

"Hmm," the doctor hummed, yanking the lid off of the threaded top before Ren could begin screwing it back on. The thing had no more use for the evening. "So, if you're someone's prisoner, then someone has to keep you, have I got that right?"

"Or kill me."

"Wouldn't you rather be kept?"

Kylo Ren only shrugged his answer as he allowed another sip to slide down the back of his completely anesthetized throat.

"She's not going to kill you," Omar reminded him. Referring to her... the girl. Rey.

"Precisely." It was the truth, she was the only game plan he had. She was the only place he felt... anything at all, really. Alive. Omar, though, was beginning to grow on him.

The doctor smiled and chuckled to himself as he shook his head, reaching to further top off their cups... which ended up filling Ren's to the halfway mark. So they were settling in for a long night, then. He struggled to suppress an idiot, indulgent grin. A convivial sort of sluggishness was building behind his eyes, and it threatened to loosen him to the point of impropriety.

"You're a savvy man, Kylo Ren," the doctor said to him. "Either that or you don't think you have anything left to lose."

Ren leaned over and stared at the blurry reflection of his own black hair hanging over the restive pool of liquid turning around and around inside his cup. The wan light from the mess unit was enough to draw circles under his eyes and lines at the corners of his mouth. Evidence of a toll that life had taken... and nothing he had to contemplate so long as the rim of that cup made its way to his lips. He took another long, fiery drink and blinked slowly, letting his entire body sink into mellow exhaustion like a soft, pillowy mattress.

"When I was little," he began, running his thumb along the outer curve of the cool, shiny handle in his hand, "my mother used to have to go to a lot of parties. Charities, political campaigns. That kind of thing." He shrugged and took a sip "Most times I was left behind with the kitchen droid, but -"

"Wait, what? A droi- she left you at home alone with a droid?!"

"Not to defend her, but... droids follow protocols. _People_ start fires."

"Fair enough."

"Anyway -"

"Do you mind me asking where your father was?"

The question gave him a sudden flare of heartburn. Or maybe it was the liquor. It was probably their combination, a sickly recipe best left ignored. The question went unanswered as he swallowed down something that burned even hotter.

" _There_ , uh... there was one time when she chose to take me with her. One of the initiatives the reformation council was spearheading at the time was the unification of a board on education, under the jurisdiction of the New Republic congress. They were drawing up legislation to standardize everything. It wasn't all taxes and tariffs. Not all the time.

"So, we attended a benefit that was thrown to raise money for campaign funds, for the candidates who were running for election. Given the nature of the cause, it was a family friendly event. Like... a carnival. I think she thought I'd enjoy it."

He could still remember it, could still catch sight of the images swimming around in the depths of his memory like tiny minnows. He recalled feeling much the same way then as he did now - taken by the wrist and swept away on the tide toward a curious unknown. Carried out into the sea of stars, away from the comfortable cradle of the solitude he detested so vehemently toward something bright and colorful and lively and terrifying, and ultimately probably very good for him. And now he was treading water lightly... nervously... anxious to discover whether or not the harbor he'd found was safe.

But the carnival had been made up into a sort of collage of things a child his age should probably have found inviting, so he'd allowed himself to gaze up in wonder at the polychromatic panorama that had greeted his mother and his young self when they'd stepped off the shuttle to mark their attendance. At first it had been a wall of noise - so much he'd stopped short, causing his mother to inadvertently yank at him before stopping to kneel and smooth the hair away from his face. So many voices, laughs and shouts rising above dissonant notes of blaring music, and a smothering tapestry of unfamiliar faces and smells and things.

But there was that voice... that voice that had spoken to him as a child when the visions of tall, black, gangly Navigators had come to find him where he'd once slept in his childhood bed. Snoke. His voice had assured him that he was stronger, was better, was of finer stock than most in the galaxy. That he could withstand the kind of adversity most could not. And as his mother stood back up and brushed off her knees, he remembered that she was not only a diplomat and a General, but that she was also called a Princess once. And that from her, he carried the blood of the Skywalker Legacy in his veins.

So just as he felt strong enough now to reasonably befriend this strange man who probed him with intrusive interrogation while plying him with his first taste of hard liquor, or that maybe he could begin to trust that the current crew on this ship might not try to kill him in his sleep... he'd also felt, then as a child, that he could probably have endured one evening cavorting around in a strange, child-appropriate festival with the other children of politicians that were likely near his own age. Just as much then as now, the prospect of social interaction was distressing to say the least, but he'd been determined to come out the victor.

After all... there had been so few moments in Kylo Ren's life when he'd been allowed the simple, guiltless act of... living like a normal person. Why shouldn't he have been there to have fun?

"They had a lot of games and things there," he said as he took another drink, enjoying its muted sting. "Things like that. And food. A lot of food. But they also had this, like, traveling zoo... sort of... exhibit thing. Had a bunch of, uh," he swished his cup around lazily as he spoke, "you know, animal specimens and stuff. From all over the galaxy. Some were big enough you could ride, and they let us feed them. Others were small enough you could hold them in your hand, or let them crawl around in your hair. But...

"There was one man who had a small collection of Barancarian quar rats. In cages."

His memory of them had been distinct. Their kind were widely considered to be vile and loathesome. Pestulent. Unsavory. Best suited to life in cages.

Not terribly different from the way he often felt.

He remembered staring at them for a long time with a sadness that had surprised him, because he hadn't understood it at the time... not the way he did now.

"He'd trained them to do all kinds of tricks. You know, by making them work for treats behind little doors. And they learned," he paused to take another sip, "they learned how to solve puzzles. To navigate mazes. They'd gotten stronger and smarter and faster, and they learned over time which buttons were the right ones to push, and they learned how to push them. _They_ were savvy."

He set the cup down on the table and ran a finger along it's outer rim, swaying slightly in his seat and looking at anything that would prevent him from making eye contact with the man across from him. And they sat there in silence for several long, weighted seconds while Ren's thoughts chased themselves around in his mind like a bunch of rats in a maze. Why was he talking so much? Why was he embarrassed about it? Should he be? He didn't say anything... weird, did he? Was this how people talked to each other? He was trying... he should try, shouldn't he? Was he doing it right? Imbibing stimulants like this was an offense that Snoke would have punished with something that either bruised or burned, but...

But he was out now. He made a choice, and he left. And while he was in someone else's cage now, it didn't mean he had to live his life alone anymore. Right? Wasn't that right?

"You know," Omar said from across the table, coughing behind the back of his hand after pulling a long drink from his own cup, "there's a whole world out there. Outside that cage."

Of course he understood the message, the moral of the story. Of course he'd pieced it together, as shrewdly as one would solve a riddle. Except one piece. There was one piece he missed.

"Yeah," Ren replied, strangely somber in spite of the tickle in his belly, "but I don't know where its buttons are."

There was no life for Kylo Ren that existed beyond the confines of a cage. It was simply... inconceivable. And frankly frightening.

"That reminds me!" the doctor announced, clapping his hands and rubbing them together. Startled, Ren reflexively looked up from the mire of his own tin cup. "I have something for you!"

And then a new frigid wave of fear slithered beneath his skin. A gift? He hadn't received one since... since probably the last time he'd seen his mother. And he'd been a child then - adulthood was different, it carried with it a different protocol. Was he... was he supposed to refuse it first? At least once? Or...? The unexpected kindness shamed him. Surprises were a failure to anticipate - an inability to gain foresight through the Force. Was this a weakness? Was the sharp blade of his skill beginning to dull? He would need to meditate on this later... search within, find what had been lost and hone it back into fighting shape.

But then the doctor had returned, practically dancing down the corridor carrying two items tucked neatly into the folds of his fists. The first he plopped unceremoniously down onto the table between them.

"For starters, a ration bar. You shouldn't be drinking on an empty stomach."

He wasn't going to argue. He was so hungry the growling in his belly had long since been reduced to nothing more than an apathetic whimper. He didn't even look to see what flavor it was, he immediately snatched it up and began to tear at the wrapper with his teeth.

And then Omar Entero laid something else down onto the table.

A small, clear bag. With something even smaller inside. It was tough to see in the dim light. But it looked like...

Pills.

"I don't expect you'll know what those are," the man began, abruptly and unsettlingly sober, even as he topped off both their cups before sitting back in his seat to cross his arms over his chest. There was something about his long, leaning lines in the grey darkness that reminded him of his father in that moment. If he squinted. "But you're smart. I think you can probably guess."

The man was uncomfortable. Ren could feel it, squirming up his neck like an itch. They _were_ pills, he could wager that safely... but he had no idea what they were for. Or... what the doctor might be trying to insinuate. Was this why he'd fed him alcohol? To start a difficult conversation? He couldn't be insulted. Kylo Ren was a... well, he had an earned reputation. He couldn't blame the man. His curiosity was piqued. And he was also secretly glad this wasn't like a real gift.

"I will honestly confess that there's a lot I don't know about you, Kylo Ren," the doctor began, drumming his fingertips on the table next to his cup. "But there are some things I do. Things we both know about each other, even. And I know very well what you're capable of - I've had to fight your baser impulses a few times now just to get you to let me heal you. I know what kind of, uh... what kind of a position I'm putting myself in by trying to have this conversation with you, but I just..."

He leaned forward and laced his fingers together on the table top and dropped his gaze somewhere in between them, his shoulders rounded over, bowed and heavy.

"I, I can't let it, go. And at the risk of being rude, I'm, um... I'm gonna hope that the rapport we've built together over the course of the past few days will lend me the benefit of the doubt. But doctors become doctors for a reason," at this he looked up and met his eye directly. "We've gotta help. If we can, then," he shrugged a small laugh, "then we've gotta. Or else it'll eat us alive. Keep us all awake at night, sometimes. So I'm hoping that you'll listen to me for a minute. Y'know, before you decide to choke me."

Like last time. Like back at the temple.

Ren armed himself with his cup in one hand and the bland, nut-paste-flavored ration bar in the other before he sat back and prepared himself for the incoming assault. It wasn't very likely he was going to choke anyone, though. He was too tired, too hungry, and the whiskey had done something stupid and wonderful to his lower inhibitions that made him too lazy to get upset about much. The man's plan had worked. And he was fine with it. He allowed another sip to turn the powdery cake in his mouth into a pleasant, boozy sort of mush.

"I'm not going to ask you any questions," the doctor said, waving his hands placatingly before him. "I'm not going to pry into your personal business. You've never struck me as a man of many words, so I'm just gonna talk and leave you to make your own decisions.

"But I've been thinking a lot since the last time we spoke, back at the temple." So this was about the temple. The way Ren remembered it, the doctor did most of the talking. "You said you don't know who you are anymore. And that struck me. It struck me because I've heard that before. A lot. Over and over. I know a lot about how the brain works. Everyone here has their speciality, but that one is my area of expertise."

Kylo Ren gripped the handle of his cup a little tighter. He knew where this was headed. He knew what this was about. He sucked again at the liquid inside, drinking in a little more than he meant to, causing him to choke on it and trigger his fight or flight instinct. With a jolt he pushed his chair away from the table, throwing a sharp, echoed squawk about the room that threatened to wake the sleeping crew upstairs.

"I know, I know," Omar pleaded, throwing out a hand in an attempt to pacify him, to persuade him to stay, "I know what I'm saying to you, I know what it sounds like. I know what it looks like with these... these _things_ just sitting here on the damned table next to your dad's ghost and all of your other crimes that no one's talking about. I know the risks here, I know. I just... I'm just begging you, please. Just listen for a minute. I'm not here to ask questions, and I'm not here to pass any judgment, okay? Just listen."

The little pile of pills in the bag was so small. They were so tiny - one kind was round and the other was more oblong. One kind was white with a little line down the middle. The other was a light sky blue - the color of a sunny summer afternoon back on Chandrila. Weirdly, his favorite color. And there were only enough of the things to fill the bottom of his tin cup. So small a thing to cause such an enormous offense, to make a creature as formidable and frightening as himself feel like a wild animal lured into a trap. So guileless and unobtrusive. And yet they were as heavy as the center of the galaxy to him. Their pull was magnetic, he couldn't look away from them.

They were important.

"It's not a secret, Kylo Ren. It's not a mystery. We all know you're responsible for... some things. A lot of things. And I know a lot more about why than you think I do. You have lived through... hardship in your life that few have lived through and even fewer would understand. Even I can't understand it because I haven't lived through it, but I still see it. All the time.

"It used to just be stroke and accident victims, back on Coruscant. But since then... since..." he dropped his chin and slid the pad of his thumb over the curve of his own cup's hande. He swallowed once before continuing. "Since my wife and I started all of this, it's been people who have seen blood. People who have seen death. People who almost didn't get away. People who live with nightmares - who have lost everything. And it changes people. It changes how people think, which changes how people act.

"It makes some people angry. It makes others mean. It makes some lose their trust. It makes some live their lives through one unpredictable act of nihilism after another. And for some... for some it makes their lives not worth living at all. But they all have one thing in common: they all have this, this... this _split_ inside them, this cognitive divide.

"A conflict."

 _A conflict._

"They all have difficulty reconciling the person they believe they should be with the person they perceive themselves to actually be. And they end up feeling juxtaposed. Disassociated.

"Lost.

"And they all are conditioned into believing that there is something wrong with them."

Something wrong. Like the fear in his father's eyes the time he walked in on him using the Force to place ornaments on their annual Life Day tree. Something wrong, like the weary relief etched across his mother's face the last day he ever saw her... the day she gave up on him, and gave him away. Something wrong, like the tightrope he'd walked between that voice in his head and a tender, aching yearning for all of the love that he'd been forced to abandon. Something wrong, like the taint of darkness within him that would forever stain him and doom him to deviant monstrosity.

"Which is a lie. Look," Omar said to him, pointing at the place on his right arm where a splint had been strapped until just a few hours ago. "When you broke that arm, did you think there was something profoundly wrong with you? Or did you think you just had a broken arm? It's not any different. You just sustained an injury.

"You've experienced... a wound. And a brain can be wounded by more than just an impact or an aneurysm. They can be injured chemically as well. Chemicals from outside the body," at which point he raised his cup high and took another drink, "but also chemicals from within. Chemicals that send messages and release hormones. And those chemical levels can be altered by experiences. Painful experiences. Trauma. Trauma is trauma, and a wound is a wound. And a brain can be wounded or suffer illness when its chemistry gets out of balance."

Ren found himself unwittingly leaning forward in his seat, raptly chewing and sipping and listening. The doctor's empirical and frank, matter-of-fact approach had held him captivated. Clearly the man had studied his subject at length and had correctly chosen to appeal to Ren's innate sense of curiosity and thirst for scholarly knowledge. For a fleeting moment he regretted having become so transparent and easy to seduce. But that also felt like letting Snoke win. And allowing someone to know him made him think it was possible that someday someone might accept him. As he was.

"And yes, it's true, it's possible that wound can heal on its own. Even amnesia patients can get their memories back one day, it's not unheard of. And your arm would've healed on its own eventually too. But here's the thing."

The doctor reached his hand across the table expectantly. Hesitantly, yet instinctually, Ren obliged him by setting down his cup and flattening his palm across the table's cool surface. He slid it to where the other man could reach it and one by one he pointed to a few places across the skin of his wrist and forearm as he spoke.

"So, first of all, both bones were broken all the way across, here and here. It wasn't a clean break, though. Your arm was smashed. This bone here shattered into a bunch of little pieces that I had to surgically remove. You have a small little plate and some screws in there right now, to protect the marrow and lend some additional structural support while the bacta got in there and did its thing.

"But that's just it. To heal this arm back into the shape it's currently in, you had to have surgery. You had to have a metal plate and some screws. You had to wear a splint. And most importantly, you had to undergo several bacta infusions. Because you had a lot more wounds than this one, this is just the example."

Omar picked up his cup again to shift back and settle in his seat. Ren found the rim of his own cup perched against his lips once more, and a trickle of sweet, spiced whiskey behind it.

"What I'm saying is... your arm still would have healed on its own. You can't stop that from happening. But you would've had to have fought infection. You would've had to have grown back a whole lot of bone. Those loose fragments would have calcified into a foreign solid mass, and it eventually would have hindered your movement. And you would have endured an immeasurable amount of pain. It's likely the arm would never have been the same again.

"Do you see what I'm saying?"

Ren unconsciously set his cup back down on the table and twisted his wrist around in a compulsory urge to feel his bones and tendons work together in proper tandem once more. A pang of memory stabbed at him down the length of the scar that ran from his brow to his breast. He tried not to think of how festered and gangrenous a wound of that caliber could have gotten on its own. But there was a juvenile part of him that relished the humor he found in that imagery - the same part that found tremendous joy in the grotesque nicknames his uncle Lando used to call him as a boy. It was possible the whiskey would've made anything funny, though. Inappropriately.

"I'm just saying that... people need people. It's inescapable. It's human nature. We're supposed to help each other - it's why doctors become doctors. It's why people do most of the things they do. I suspect it's even why your master sought an apprentice.

"But you have a wound. That much is clear and I think we can both agree on that. Someone hurt you - I'm not pointing fingers at who, but someone did, and now you're wounded. And it's not up to me how you decide to heal it. That's your choice. But I can provide you with an option. I can help you line everything back up again so that things make sense. Which isn't to say you're not capable of making sense of things, it's just... kriff, that's not what I - dammit, I just..."

Omar huffed a quick, frustrated breath. He spread one hand face down on the table and let the other catch his forehead as it slumped in defeat. The conversation fell as he sat there searching for the right words - words like dusty pebbles getting kicked off the edge of a cliff. Ren felt like he was standing at the top, listening intently for them to hit the bottom as he watched the other man brush back his hair and massage one of his temples. Ren was confused by the doctor's sudden flustered inarticulation, and he still didn't know what kinds of pills he was staring at. How were they supposed to help him...? What was he missing from context?

"Look," the doctor finally continued, holding his hands up between them for emphasis. "Here's what I'm trying to say. You need to know this. Back there. When we were standing there on Prakith. We had Ali on the Zephyr and we were ready to get out of there, but _she_ , uh... she couldn't peel her eyes away from the sky - she was just watching you fly. Just watching you run for your life."

She. The girl. Rey.

"You need to know this," he repeated. "I..." He picked up his cup with both hands and stared into it as he sighed. "I wanted to leave you behind. I believed I was in a position where I was having to make the choice between saving your life and putting my kids at risk. Even my own daughter. You had already taken Ali and at the time, I... I wasn't sure what you were thinking. I wasn't sure what you wanted, but I knew exactly what you were capable of.

"The only reason I changed my mind was because they'd convinced me that you'd been injured. I hope you'll excuse my honesty, but if you'd have been in decently good health... you'd have been on your own. The reason I'd agreed to help you was because I'd been lead to believe you were in a sufficiently weakened state to have been rendered more or less harmless. Which isn't to say that you are ever harmless... but I think you know what I mean.

"Obviously I don't feel the same way now as I did then, but you need to know that I consider these children to be people. They're not 'just kids' to me. They're people. Just like you or me or like anyone, really. But mostly... you. They're a lot like you. And that's the point I'm trying to make. They're wounded. They're scared and angry. They're hungry and desperate. They've been running for their lives, and some have been prisoners, whether they realize it or not. They're either orphaned or abandoned, but either way they're all alone now, and a few of them are _powerful_. And they all believe this galaxy wants nothing more than to just forget about them. They're castaways."

Adrift. Clinging to a raft of hope and lies. Struggling to survive. The doctor wasn't wrong. Ren knew this kind of life very well.

"But then... I saw something. In your eyes. And everything changed. Just as I got you off the hovercart and onto the table in the med bay. Just before you began to code out. I saw that moment in your eyes - you need to know this. I saw it. That very moment."

Once more he looked up and into his eyes.

"When you decided... to give up."

And it was like a curtain was yanked away. A hush fell over the commons. Not the simple, ashen-soft hush of midnight slumber, or the kind that befalls two companions when conversation fades to amiable silence. This was a pause. A laden, pregnant pause. The kind that put a chill in the air, like a bitter, winter fog. It was like the hush of death. And it carried with it lament and misgiving, and the freezing bite of exposure.

"I've seen it before," the doctor said again. "Over and over. I know what it looks like. I don't know what pushed you to that place, and I won't ask. It's not my business. But I saw it. And I knew then - that's when I knew. You're just like them - I knew it then, and I know it now."

He stopped to take a quick drink and wet his throat. Ren couldn't stop fiddling with the ration bar wrapper he still held pressed between his fingers. He'd grown tense, but the shiny metal sheet had a smooth texture that had become a welcome distraction.

"You know, I made a promise to my wife, when she died... when she died for _this_ , for what we do, for these kids. I made a promise that _someone_ was going to care for these people. That _someone_ was going to help these people because _someone_ has to. And I made a promise, as a doctor.

"People need people - it's _okay_ to need people. You're supposed to. And you're here now. You're here, and you're not alone. And I still owe you that promise. So, if I can help you, I will."

Ren was stunned into silence, unable to form a response and wasn't sure he should. He was out of his depth. Everything the doctor had just said to him - words and ideas and phrases were still buzzing like static between his ears. Part of it felt like a confrontation... but most interactions with other people felt that way. The rest of it felt conciliatory, but Ren's inherent sense of distrust could not stop searching for hidden signs of manipulation or deceit. It was just... who he was. After all, promises like this were meaningless to him, as they were typically used as bait. He didn't know what to say or think, and the alcohol had made his thoughts too fuzzy to construct any adequate sort of offensive strategy. Was the other man waiting for him to say something at all? He stuffed the last bite of his ration bar quickly into his mouth as a stalling tactic, and stared into the final dregs of the whiskey in his cup. Unbidden, he found his eyes returning to the small, clear bag of pills still sitting on the table as conspicuous as one of the neon signs on Nar Shaddaa.

And they stared back at him, as unflinching and unblinking as an insult. The doctor was right. He was conditioned into believing there was something wrong with him. Ren had to admire the man's gumption, addressing the issue so inelegantly straightfoward while Kylo Ren's lightsaber lay out in the open, mere inches away. Ren oftentimes found himself charmed by such brazenness. It was, after all, the very same trait he found so beguiling in... _her_.

"So," Omar stated plainly, clapping and rubbing his hands together the way he usually did, graciously releasing Ren from any sort of obligation to speak. "Here's the deal. And pay attention because I'm only going to talk about this once and then I'll never speak a word of it again, unless you ask me to."

At this, the doctor used the palm of his hand to wiggle the bag around until the little pile of pills within it lay as flat as possible. Using the tip of one index finger he began to separate them from each other, drawing the distinction between the round, white ones and the blue, oblong ones.

"These here are a type of antidepressant. They target certain neurotransmitters and prevent them from getting lost in places where they shouldn't be going, so you have a better balanced pool available to you for optimal thought processing. If you decide to take them, take them twice a day, but not too close to bedtime. Say, breakfast and dinner.

"This second one is a wide spectrum anti-anxiety medication with another type of antidepressant. These act like little soldiers guarding your chemical receptor sites. They'll do a better job of evening out what gets through and what goes to where. You only need to take this once a day, but I strongly suggest taking it with food.

"They're not meant to fix everything. They're not a magical cure that'll make everything go way, or will make you suddenly just forget everything that's ever happened to you. They won't stop you from feeling sadness or anger or fear. But they will line everything back up into a better position for strength and healing - they will give you back the legs you need to stand on in order to process and analyze and prioritize your emotions and your memories and your fears, and ultimately give you a more fair shot at figuring out how to cope with it all.

"They're not a miracle pill, but they're not a placebo. They're not a hoax, they're not a lie. They're _medicine_. They're a little metal plate and some screws. They're a splint and a bacta infusion. You're gonna heal on your own, one way or another. Your healing process is yours, and is your own business. But these can make it easier."

With this, Omar gave the little bag a curt, hasty shove until it ended up wadded in a twisted lump between Ren's mostly empty tin cup and his limp, idle hands.

"There," he acknowledged them for the last time with a nod. He gathered both cups again and upturned the thermos into them to empty the remainder of its contents. "Take them. What you do with them is your business. It's your choice. I won't ask you about it. I'll never mention them again. For all I care, you can flush them down the toilet or toss them out into open space, or even sell them on the holonet... although as a medical professional I have to strongly request that you do not do that. But this is the last time I'll bring them up. Unless you ask me to. You know, if you have any questions, or... if you run out. Or, like, if you have any side effects - I can get other kinds. These just tend to be the more popular ones. But they're yours to do with what you please."

With the whispery grind of metal on metal, the doctor slid Ren's cup back across the table and into his waiting grasp. He then sat back, crossed one ankle over his knee, and took a long drink before once again dragging the length of his sleeve across his mouth. Leaving the bag to sit ignored on the table felt not only rude but also callow and cowardly, so Ren did the only thing he could think to do. He picked it up and stuffed it hurriedly into the pocket of his pants. Tucked away. Out of sight. Yet just as unforgotten as the datapad that still leered at him from across the table.

"So," the doctor breathed. "That's out of the way. You weren't like, ummmuhhh... meditating out here or something were you? Because if I -"

"Couldn't sleep," Ren finally voiced as he rubbed one eye. His lips felt slack and cumbersome, and his words were starting to slur together.

"Hmph," the doctor laughed. "You've had a day. I find that both easy and hard to believe." But then his uninvited fingertip nudged the broken pieces of the lightsaber that still occupied space next to Ren's cup of whiskey. The little cracked crystal inside rattled against the cage of its saddle socket. "Oh, heh. Yeah. I see. The magnetic pull of an unsolved puzzle. I get it. You know, she'll kick your ass if she knows you've been messing with it."

"No one knows that better than I do," he confessed, dragging his loose finger in a zigzagged line down the scar that crossed his face. "Doesn't matter. A Jedi iddn'a Jedi 'til she builds her own lightsaber. But I hadd'n idea."

"You should probably tell her about that idea before you try anything."

"I know... but she'll hate it."

"Well, there's a conundrum," the doctor chuckled with a smile that was tough to translate. "I swear, you kids these days and your communication skills. That's how you get scars, you know."

"Figured that out, thanks."

"So what makes you think she'll hate it?"

"'Cause I wanna take her staff apart."

"You wanna...? Oh boy." Omar laughed again as he slowly shook his head, letting out a low whistle. He tipped his cup up to the light in some sort of fatalistic salute before he pulled another long swig from it. "You sure are a sucker for punishment, Kylo Ren. You've got your work cut out for you - she doesn't get far without that thing."

"Seems t'me she p'fers the lightsaber."

"I mean, sure, you're probably right," the man agreed, leaning both elbows back onto the table and staring off into the dark. "I mean, I would too. Seems the smart choice. It does have a meaner business end. Maybe she'll just keep yours."

"She won't, she -"

"Oh yeah, I forgot. A Jedi isn't a Jedi until she -"

"N-no, she hates my saber."

At this the man wrinkled his brow in a quizzical look, and Ren realized he'd let his mouth get away from him. Too far gone to rectify the situation, he opted instead to drown his traitorous tongue in yet another spirited wash of booze. They'd talked enough about wounds tonight. The last thing he wanted to discuss was the one that split the crystal in his own saber... and the woeful ache that spilled from it, afflicting all who dared to come in contact with it. But it was too late. He'd plopped it out onto the table just as eagerly as Omar had with his malicious bag of pills.

"She hates it? Huh. She sure swings it awful well," the man shrugged. In an astonishing, or even stupid, gambit of bravery, he leaned toward the far end of the table to pilfer through the items lying there. Ren held his breath as he watched the doctor actually pick the thing up - right across from a man who could have it out of his hands in seconds. "Personally, I think it's an interesting weapon," he said. In the low light, he turned it over and around between them, as if inspecting it closely. "It's intimidating, it's effective... it has some... _curious_ design features. It's not like other weapons. What's there to hate? Is it the color? Or its, uh..." He looked up and met his eye. "Its history?"

There was something in his tone that lead Ren to believe that the man was being slightly disingenuous, or that his ignorance could be a ruse. Why? If he was so much smarter than what he was letting on, what was he trying to trick Ren into saying? Or was he just simply making innocent small talk about a topic that interested him, and the unease Ren was feeling was yet another artifact of his abnormally conditioned brain? If the doctor was inferring that Rey felt the saber was such a cursed, abhorrent item because it had been used to shed the blood of its victims, well... what else would anyone expect a saber to be used for?

Or was he actually trying to imply that he thought it had something to do with his father's death? Was this a judgment? As if he had any more use for _that_... As if he would ever be free of _that_ pain. And didn't the doctor say something about... not making judgments?

"She says it hurts," he finally admitted, trying not to dwell on questions he couldn't answer while unable to devise a clear plan that would allow him to steer the conversation... anywhere else. But then he remembered Ali had said the same thing once. Back in a mine on Churruma. And, if he had to be perfectly honest with himself... "I s'pose it does."

"Well... sure. I mean, it's got its rough patches - this cutaway here, I suppose, could be -"

"No, no," he said, pressing his fingers into his own chest. "Inside. S'a diff'rnt kind of pain. It's a... a feeling..." He wasn't used to having this much trouble forming cohesive thoughts. "It's, um... brain wound."

Omar stopped the saber in mid-turn and held it very still as his eyebrows lifted in staid comprehension.

"Oh," he nodded his understanding. "I see. You mean the _saber_ hurts. So it makes the user... yeah, I get it. Sometimes the Force is as clear as a bell, other times clear as mud. How does that happen?"

"It's like this."

He picked up the broken half of his grandfather's saber that still held the tiny blue crystal within it. He lifted it into the dim light of the mess unit and stared at it, mesmerized, as the diffuse glow glittered upon the miniscule irregularities that marred the cleft between its two disparate halves the way dew would dot a spider's web. And it was like he fell into it - like the miniature network of microscopic threads of light was its own little star map of hyperlanes, and as his gaze followed one into the other he began to lean... just ever so slightly... to the right...

Until Omar's steady hand landed on his shoulder.

"Oookay son, you better put that back down before you -"

"Did'j'you see it?" he muttered at the man. "Right there. S'cracked."

"I did," Omar answered, gently taking the saber piece and placing it safely back onto the firm, flat surface of the table top. "It _is_ cracked. So you're saying the crystal in your saber is like this one?"

"Mhmm. Like this one."

"I see. So, how do crystals like these get cracked? I mean, well, it's uh... it's obvious how _this_ one got cracked. Just look at it. But yours looks mostly intact?"

"No, it's cracked too."

"Do you mind me asking what happened?"

And that was the second time Omar had prefaced a question with a request for permission. Ren didn't know what to do with that. He expected interrogation from people. He expected trespass, he expected invasion. They were tactics he was familiar with, he was accustomed to them. But this was different. He wanted to let the unsolicited courtesy spook him the way he ordinarily would, the way he had been all evening, but instead he found himself oddly comforted. And with his previous stringent mental filters having recently been rendered thoroughly immaterial, he found that the clear path between his mind and his mouth had become like a fast moving river. He found himself beginning to enjoy the simple act of talking and connecting with another person.

Maybe the cracks had a use. Maybe the pain spilled out on purpose. To pool and flow. To reach another shore. Maybe people really did need people.

"The crystals are cracked b'cause of pain."

"Yeah, the saber hurts. You mentioned that already."

He was talking in circles. He was swaying circles in his seat. Even the room was starting to spin in circles, everything was circling around. Even the Force. Even the childish notion of Destiny. But if he had to sit and ponder on it, what really happened, what was the true cause... he would've ultimately had to concede that their crystals were cracked for the very same reason, but that reason was not pain. Not entirely.

It was indecision. Anakin Skywalker's saber split, his crystal split, because it could not decide whose call to answer in the throne room on the Supremacy, and the anguish over their rivalry was too much for it to bear. Its final act of self-sacrifice was representative of a greater wound in the Force - the chasm between two halves that longed to be whole again.

The split. The one long remembered, all of this time, by the ghosts that still haunted the temple back on Tython.

Even the split Anakin Skywalker felt within himself.

It wasn't at all unlike the conflict he felt within his own soul. That divide between the acceptance - the power, the control, the Destiny, the _freedom_ \- he'd hoped to receive through his own act of sacrifice. Through his _father's_ act of sacrifice. That internal battle waged between a darkness born of hatred, loneliness, and grief... and the incessant pull of compassion, love, and a soft, light serenity. That unyielding tug of hope that even he, himself, could be made whole one day... that he could find reconciliation, absolution. And belonging.

"I did it," he said to his own bleary reflection, staring wistfully back at himself from the bottom of his little tin cup. "I poured all of my darkness into it, but the light refused to leave. And there was no more room, not f'r both of them. I tried t'force it t'be something it wasn't meant to be, but it wouldn't give up. So... it cracked."

"'Your darkness.' Meaning..."

It was his turn to look up and meet Omar eye to eye.

"You know what that means."

He had run out of tolerance for the doctor's playing dumb. If they were going to talk, then they were going to keep talking directly. Like they had before, when the talk was about brains, wounds, chemicals, and pills. In a show of fortitude, he wet his lips with another sip of whiskey.

"I know, you're right. I do," Omar agreed. "As much as someone like me can." Absentmindedly, he nudged the two sabers so that they were nestled cozily against each other. He ran his fingertips over the blackened, tarnished finish of Kylo Ren's lightsaber, toying with its lines and contours as he spoke.

"And to be real honest... I feel it too. I'm not like you or her, but everyone knows that all things are connected through the Force, and this thing even runs a chill up my spine. It's..." He pulled his hands away, letting them fall heavily into his lap. "It's like a sadness... but a sadness I recognize. It's one I know. And it makes me wonder," he mused as he sat back and scrubbed at his beard. "I wonder if the reason she hates your saber so much is because what she's feeling is her own pain reflected back at her. And it's easy to mistake because her pain is so similar to your own."

It wasn't something Ren had considered before, but he wasn't sure he believed it. And it didn't change anything. The crystal was still cracked, and the saber still hurt. Repairing the damage within himself was the more salient matter. That... and giving the Jedi a weapon of her own, instead of something borrowed and unintended for her.

The girl.

"Doesn't matter. Won't fix it," he slurred as he collected the two sabers and began to carelessly stuff them back into the satchel. After struggling with its loose, floppy flap, Omar lifted the thing to assist... but then turned his attention toward the datapad at the end of the table. Ren's stomach squeezed tight with a cold shot of nauseating dread. Just as the doctor lifted it off of the table and brought it closer to get a good look, it zipped through the air to land in one of Ren's panicked hands. Omar gasped and whipped around to face him, but he didn't say anything. And they sat that way for a painfully long and excruciating, but otherwise likely very small, moment while Ren did his best to conjure any words he could from the confused and jumbled aether that clouded his terror-stricken mind.

"It's okay," the doctor told him, his hands still in the air. His body language made it plainly evident that he was worried the peace he'd bartered was broken. "Those... things back there clearly wanted you to have it. It's none of my business. I won't ask you what's on it. I've got things I don't talk much about, too. It's fine."

But this wasn't like that. It was reflex to feel defensive about it, it was natural to want nothing more than to leave this nightmare behind him, this final piece of it... but this wasn't like that. This was still something that couldn't be covered up and forgotten, it couldn't be stolen or hidden. It couldn't be ignored.

"I'll say this, though," the doctor continued before Ren could open his mouth. "I've seen those things before. Those... creatures. The ones that gave that to you. I'm not gonna mention where or how, but I do know that where they go hell usually follows." Omar Entero truly had absolutely no idea the truth of that statement. "They can't be mislead. And they came a very long way to find you and give you this. So... we need to know. We need to talk about it. Is that thing a liability to the people on this ship?" To the children on this ship, he meant. "Is that thing going to make _you_ a liability?"

At this Ren had to laugh. It surprised him how easily it overtook him. It made his whole body shake. It had been so long since he'd last laughed a long, good laugh. But what came from him wasn't anything like the soft boyish laughter he'd made while watching his father dance around like a lunatic because they were having his favorite meal for dinner. It wasn't the raucous exhiliration of a dirty joke or even the thrill of a jump scare or a prank. This was more the bitter, churlish huff of cynicism and acrimony.

"I'm a liability everywhere I go," he grumbled, mindlessly turning the datapad around and around, corner by corner in his hands. "You should never have made me your prisoner."

"Well... that was your plan, and your plan worked. You had to end up somewhere. And if it wasn't gonna be at the bottom of some fiery crater on Prakith, then it was probably gonna be here. You know better than anyone else... there's no arguing with her. Especially when she's yanking whole ships out of the sky."

Her. The girl. Rey.

The sensation was still fresh and warm on his cheek. Where his face had landed... as he'd collapsed in a bloody, broken heap upon the long, smooth plane of her thigh. If he closed his eyes, he could still feel her fingers working their way through his matted, clotted hair. He could still linger there, and cling with both arms around her waist as if she was a life preserver, bobbing out on the open sea.

"It was stupid," he mumbled half-heartedly. "She risked all of your lives."

"I can't disagree. As I said earlier, I was not terribly pleased about it at the time. But that's the thing about women," he sighed as he leaned forward on his elbows. "We rarely understand the things they do. That's because they're complex creatures - more complex than you or me. And because of that, they understand more complex things.

"Maybe it's the will of the Force or maybe it's something else, I don't know, but she sees something in you. Something you don't understand. And you probably won't. But she does. And you're just gonna have to trust her on that. I mean," he tipped his cup back and swallowed its final drops before setting it back on the table, "I didn't at first either. But we all bring our experiences here before each other, we all have something of value to teach each other. I've learned this much from her. She sees something in you. Something real, something precious. And if she sees it... then it's probably there. And there's no arguing with her about it. So you might as well accept it and get past it."

Before he could change his mind or take it back, Ren pounded the data pad back down onto the table and pushed it across the invisible dividing line between himself and the good doctor, Omar Entero. It was like he'd dropped some ball into a field of play. Like he'd made some sort of tithe or contrition to an opposing faction as an act of surrender, and what was done was done. He'd played his odds this far and he was still alive and whole. The words etched across the files on that pad were the worser storm he'd had to weather. He could withstand this one too, couldn't he?

"It's not a liability," he promised. "It's... it's hope. But it comes at a cost."

The doctor didn't pick it up. Instead, he leaned back in his chair once more and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Well, I'm gonna tell you the same thing she told me, back on Prakith when she was trying to convince me to be your last hope. This is war. And it means drawing the line between what risk is acceptable and what risk isn't. Everything comes at a cost these days, it seems. Particularly fleets of ships... or the cost of a person's soul. How bad could this cost be?"

Ren mimicked the man, hugging himself tightly as he crossed his own arms. To hear it put that way... like it was simple arithmatic. These people didn't exactly hold him in high esteem to begin with. He was a prisoner, not a colleague - what did it matter if their opinion of him changed upon viewing the atrocities contained within that datapad? Could it actually get any worse? Maybe he _was_ a man with nothing left to lose. What value was there to be found in pride? He was already stripped to nothingness - what left was there to be taken away?

He touched it lightly with the fingertips of one hand and swallowed thickly. He wasn't sure he was ready to let go of this... but he could at least speak its name to the universe.

"This is Snoke's journal," he stated softly, far softer than the echoes that hammered at the void inside his mind.

"I thought we already had some kind of jour-"

"That was Hux's journal. I'd s'pected this journal to be mixed into that one, but... I was wrong. Hux's journal was 'nough to show us what we're really fighting, but... but this..." He tapped one finger against its corner. " _This'll_ show us how to fight it.

"Ever'thing is in here. Ever'thing. I tried t'get a copy made after he died, but Hux got it first. He stole it. So I stole his, hoping t'find a copy. B'it wasn't there. I dunno what he did with it. He could'a dropped it into open space f'r'all I know. But tha's'what they do... they _find_ things..."

"They... who?"

"Those creatures. They're Navigators. Snoke's Navigators."

"Ah, yeah. Where I come from, we call them Finders, although I imagine they're called a lot of things."

"They are Finders. They c'n find anything, s'what they do. They plotted all his courses. B'cause they always knew where they were going. What he was looking for... I guess." Which included him, once. Years ago. "And they found this datapad. Wherever it was hidden."

"So what's on it, then? What makes it so important?"

And there he was, standing back at the top of that waterfall again, ready to throw himself off and hoping he missed the sharp rocks to fall straight into the water, sink or swim. He laid both hands on either side of the datapad.

"Ever'thing that Hux knows about the Infinite Engine is in this journal."

And though his vision was swimming through a hazy, drunken stupor, he watched with perfect clarity as Omar Entero's entire demeanor changed before his very eyes. The man straightened up in his seat, his eyes widened, and his jaw dropped. He glared at him with a breathless, incredulous sort of amazement for a long pause before he finally exhaled and looked down at the datapad sitting before him. It was then that he finally decided to pick the thing back up. But the way he did it was cautious and slow, almost as if he was handling a live bomb.

"You're certain?" he asked, his eyes never leaving the datapad.

"F'course I am. Why would'n I be? Those things took out a bounty on my head just t'give it to me."

"That's a good point..."

"That's not all that's on there, though..."

This was it. This was where it started. There was no going back now - what he said next would change everything. These things... even his parents didn't know. Nobody knew. Sealed in a box to be pushed over the edge where it would shatter on the rocks below, letting everything spill out of him.

"It's Snoke's journal," he repeated. "His... private. Journal."

"What do you mean...?"

"Ever'thing is on there." He twisted his hands together, using a thumb to swipe cold sweat across the flat of his left palm. The breath he took was ragged and shaky, but he looked Omar Entero in the eye just the same.

"Ever'thing," he whispered, nodding once. His eyes misted over with meaning... and fear.

At first, the doctor still didn't understand what he was being told. But if anyone on that ship would have, it would've been him. Slowly recognition dawned on him, and he replaced the datapad to the table and pulled his hands away. He folded them placidly into his lap and cocked his head to the side, and blew a long, grim, joyless sigh. Withering under the scrutiny, Ren chose to drain his own tin cup of its last, and cast his eyes into its tenebrous bottom.

"Oh," was all the doctor could think to say at first. "I see... I see. I understand." But then, quickly enough to startle, he picked the thing back up and thumped one of its corners against the table top a couple of times.

"Okay, so here's an idea, then," he started. "Here's what we can do." He wiggled his butt in his seat to get settled. "Let's do this. I will read it," he put it down and let his palms hover over it in the air, "front to back. I'm a quick study and a fast reader, and we've got a couple days layover in Takodana while the rest of the crew is going to be busy dealing with a hostage exchange and an influx of very new, very suspicious, ships. I'm not a pilot or an engineer - I'm not even a part of this Resistance, technically. I'll only be in the way. So I will read this and catalog every single detail I can find about the Infinite Engine, and then..."

He rested his hands on either side of the datapad and took a deep enough breath to make his shoulders bounce up and down.

"And then I'll do whatever you want with it. I'll erase it, I'll burn it, I'll smash it into a thousand pieces and make some sort of art out of it, whatever you want. I'll even let my daughter use it for target practice, whatever. Or I can just give it back to you. It's your call. The point is, we can get whatever information we need out of it, and... no one else has to know anything. I'll never say anything about it. I'm a doctor, I'm duty bound for discretion and confidentiality. I took an oath. Even you won't know what's written in there if you don't wanna know. I'll take it to my grave. Your call."

He knew it was his call. It was his choice - he knew it was. This was the choice he knew he would have to make, the one that would consummately entomb any archaic notion of Destiny he still clung to. But he was paralyzed by that fear and that choice, frozen in hesitation. It seemed a clear, easy answer. It seemed so perfect, and yet...

Did that make it right?

It was time to let the past die. It was time to confront his fears. This was his choice to make, and if he was to form attachments, then he would need to cultivate them. He alone would have to plant the seed and let it grow. He would have to trust in the Force. He would have to let it help him, let it guide him.

He would have to let it catch him.

With both hands, he pulled the datapad back between them, back to the middle of the table. Back into common ground.

"No," he told the room. It was time. "Let them read it. Let them know."

It was time.

"I am not afraid," he stammered, trying to sound more sober than he was. He let his icy Skywalker arrogance fall over him, like donning cracked porcelain armor. He lifted his chin in a show of false courage, a pauper and a prince, as he looked down the length of his nose at that flat, dark, insipid little rectangle where it lay, lauding over him all of his own secrets as if they were nothing more than contemptible taunts. Let it have its fun. He could take it.

He'd had worse.

But then he looked to Omar Entero. And the man merely smiled at him. But it wasn't the abrasive, patronizing sort of smile he usually gave to people. This was something warmer, something genuine. Something Snoke never gave him. Something he only ever got from his mother, once... long ago.

And... her. The girl. Rey.

It was acceptance. It was an acknowledgement of the past, and a hope for the future. It was the very thing he needed. It was the very thing he wanted, more than power, more than control, more than purpose, or pride, or value, or even a concept of home. This was it.

 _This_ was the answer to the question that had plagued him for so long... staring back at him from across the length of a dimly lit mess table on an unnamed freighter hanging in the middle of space. At the center of the galaxy, for all he knew. This was it. It was the right choice.

He wanted her to read it. He wanted all of them to read it. He wanted them to know, he wanted the whole galaxy to know. Someone needed to know the truth. It was time to let it go. It was time to finally tell someone. Perhaps the loss of life and innocence could finally be avenged. Perhaps they all could be at peace. It was time.

"Okay," was all that Omar Entero said to him. And that was all he needed to say.


	23. Ch 23: The Touchstone

**Chapter Twenty-Three: The Touchstone**

"No, no - not now! _Never_ while the door is closed!"

Her words had hung in his mind like a banner ever since she'd hissed them at him. Even now, as Moff Reardon sat drumming his fingertips on his knee while patiently waiting in the dreadnought's command center, his eyes sweeping out over the empty plane of space as stomach acid climbed his esophagus, he could still feel her small, clammy hands pushing against his shoulders to turn him around and back from whence he'd come. And she'd been correct. His state of preparations was completely irrelevant so long as Supreme Leader Armitage Hux had himself sequestered behind _that_ door... the one at the end of the Research and Development Laboratory. Nothing good would come from interrupting him. Not even if they were ready to begin.

Lieutenant Allerset was a force to be reckoned with, for such a slight woman. And an anomaly amongst her peers, despite her dutiful adherence to propriety and regulation. Any other Imperial officer in the ranks of command would have stood aside and allowed him to make his mistake, if only to watch fresh meat ascend the ranks as a result, when the position inevitably found itself to be... open. But the fire in her eyes... the grip of her fingers, like talons... the way her brow had wrinkled and cast a shadow over the tiny freckles on her nose, the way her lip had curled like a plump, pink curtain lifting to showcase a wall of perfectly laid ivory teeth... Beneath her starched and orderly exterior lie the snapping jaws of a beast.

It was enough to make him forget about Hoth for a moment.

But then... had come the shrieks. They'd been muffled and indistinct, but still recognizably shrieks. Even as the heels of her palms still dug into the meat of his shoulders, she'd clamped her eyes shut as if caught red-handed at something. As if something that should have remained hidden no longer was. And the desperation that had shone from them the moment she'd opened those pale blue eyes once more, to gaze up at him as no other woman had done in such a long, long time...

He'd witnessed then the same fear that had gnawed at his own gut without end since he'd set foot on the flight deck of the Vindicator. It was a terrifying, depersonalizing conflict of interest with no resolution. They were both in a position where they'd found themselves just biding their time until it came down to killing or being killed. Like a ticking time bomb - like a balancing act between spending every ounce of cunning just to keep a madman from doing something stupid and insidious that would result in mutiny at best or total senseless annihilation at worst, or... to keep from falling victim to his madness themselves. She was doing everything in her power to keep everything together as it was crumbling all around her... but there was no one there to keep her from falling apart.

And yet somehow she'd found the reserves to keep going. And physically shove around a man a good head taller and wider than her.

She was electric. A credit to her station. An intoxicating marvel.

But as quickly as the disturbance behind the door had sprung to life, that life had ebbed away. An unnatural silence had befallen them all of a sudden, as thick as a blanket of snow.

"Get out your datapad," she'd breathed through her teeth, conspiratorially. "You're giving me your report. Quickly!"

And the moment he'd pulled it away from his pocket - the very second her entire stance had shifted, once again the pinnacle of the Imperial ideal, as if her rank and position were nothing more than a jacket she'd chosen to slip over her shoulders - the lock on the door had disengaged. The seals around the entryway had popped open. The fearsome looking sentry droids had retreated a step to grant unrestricted passage to their master. And then the door had opened wide.

Revealing nothing inside but General Hux himself.

And... of course. The Infinite Engine.

But not a speck more.

"Here," Allerset had called to him, grabbing his attention before he could have been caught staring at the thing. She'd probably saved his life. "Just sign off on your report here, and I'll see that his Excellency will - oh! My Lord!"

She'd feigned ignorance masterfully enough to fool a Jedi. Looking truly caught unaware, she'd whipped around to click her heels together in a crisp salute.

The man who had greeted them, for all appearances, was arguably Armitage Hux. Or at least bore a strong resemblance to the man Moff Reardon had answered to throughout the greater bulk of his career. They were not terribly disparate in age and had climbed the ranks more or less as contemporaries - they'd crossed paths throughout the course of several campaigns. He was someone Reardon felt he could reasonably identify from across a crowded parade deck, that much was certain. But _that_ creature... the one that had taken up residence behind the man's eyes... _that_ was an abomination that bore no likeness to any civilized person, living or dead.

It was like Hux was being eaten from the inside out. His cheeks were sunken as well as his eyes, which were ringed with dark purple. His skin had grown tight and shiny, almost as if it was made from wax - wax that wept, as he was never seen without his kerchief blotting away a ceaseless font of perspiration. And there were times he whispered things to himself that no one else could hear.

But it was his eyes, themselves, the most. The whites were so shot red with blood they nearly eclipsed any other color. They were nearly inhuman, the focal point of a truly demonic countenance.

Which had lead Reardon to ask himself... just what had made those shrieks, then? The ones behind the door?

"My Lord," he followed suit with the good Lieutenant in addressing his superior officer. He gulped down his fear and revulsion as he clicked his heels together and made a shallow dip at the waist. "I was just delivering my report to -"

"You are ready to begin," the General had surmised, his voice slithering like a snake over stones.

"Precisely... my Lord."

"Very good. There is much for you to see, Moff Reardon. It is time you bore witness to the touchstone - to the power - of this great Order. I have already drawn up my instructions with the Lieutenant. You will receive your orders from her. I must go prepare. I will meet you in orbit by the end of the standard diurnal cycle."

And with that he'd departed, leaving the door - _that_ door - already closed behind him. His faithful sentries had fallen in once more to resume their posts.

And now, per his orders, he was here... hanging like flotsam in the void, growing restless in a plush, sleen-hide chair in the command center on the Enforcer, sister ship to the Aggressor. The quiet ennui that permeated the bored, waiting crew had grown awkward. Moments ago a crewman had merely cleared his throat and every man and woman on the deck had turned to look at him expectantly, welcoming a break in the duldrum. The man's cheeks had pinked from the unwanted attention as he'd sunken down between his shoulders. Even Reardon found himself checking the time on his chronometer every ten minutes.

He didn't know what he was so anxious about. These were likely the last moments of his life he'd spend in relative peace and sanity. He should be enjoying them. Yet every moment that passed was a moment that wasn't spent stuffing himself into the cockpit of a TIE fighter and launching himself out into open space to run for his life. Ever since he'd taken up his position on the flagship, the Vindicator, it was like he'd walked into a long tunnel and a gate had sprung shut behind him. His only choice was to walk forward now, and at the end of that dark hole lie his doom and nothing else. He wasn't certain exactly what it was that the General had promised he'd bear witness to... but he felt fairly positive it was nothing he wanted to see. It would be something that would change him forever. There would be no turning back.

Unless he turned away now.

And every minute that passed was one more minute too late.

But then his thoughts lingered on the fair, freckled face of Lieutenant Allerset. He could only aspire to become as strong as she, whose entire career as a personal attache was spent at the side of that... thing. He shuddered to think of the things she'd witnessed... the truths she'd come to know.

And he was about to join her unfortunate company.

A chime filled the spacious cabin, signalling an end to his time for misgivings. His future began now. Out of the black the Aggressor materialized as she emerged from hyperspace. The ringing console was answered and the General was brought up on the holoprojector.

"Moff Reardon," he stated plainly. "I will send a shuttle for you."

And that was all. The transmission was cut while Reardon was still halfway to his feet. He coughed behind his hand as he straightened and tugged at the hem of his service jacket, shaking the sleep from his legs as he turned to make his way toward the flight deck, nodding a curt salute to the Enforcer's commanding officer as he left. The shuttle was billowing steam when he finally arrived, dripping droplets of condensation all over the polished black tiles. The craft creaked and whistled in places from the temperature differential between the hold and outer space. With a crack and a hiss, the gangway hatch swung open, its hydraulic pistons slowly lowering it to the ground. It was like an open invitation straight to hell.

And for the last time, Moff Reardon steeled himself.

At first glance, he'd thought no one was on board, and that the shuttle had arrived under its own operation. Which was ludicrous. It wasn't until his eyes adjusted to the relative low light that he saw the nervous pilot hunched over his own console. And then a slim, black figure rose beside him. It was Hux.

Even on interfleet transport such as this, the man was seldom, if ever, seen without his usual cadre of Praetorians or his fabricated goon squad of intimidating HK droids. Even the good Lieutenant was notably absent. The fact that this was clearly intended to be a private meeting did not go far toward settling Reardon's stomach. This was unorthodox. And unorthodox practices amongst the ranks of the First Order were typically... discreetly and firmly dealt with. Should they occur at all.

"My Lord," he greeted the man in his usual fashion - heel click, dip at the waist, et cetera. The darkness inside the shuttle, however, hid how tightly Reardon clenched his balled fists to his sides.

"My good man," the Supreme Leader returned. "Welcome aboard. Do come - sit. There is much to do." He was in a queerly good mood. There wasn't much Reardon could extrapolate from that. "We are about to begin something truly magnificent. A turning point for the whole of the galaxy. Who better to witness the first cornerstone be placed than the man who, himself, gave this new era its form?"

All he'd done was draw up blueprints... whose successes were still only technically based on theory. It seemed a bit premature to start celebrating. But there was an artistry to design, if Reardon had to be completely honest with himself. And there wasn't an artist alive who didn't crave watching their thoughts manifest physical form.

"You honor me, my Lord," he humbly replied. And his humility was genuine.

But there was still a tension in the air, created by this unnerving and unnecessary, and very much unwelcome sense of... confidentiality. And the General's overall display of excitement was not enough to convince Moff Reardon to relax.

"Let us away," Hux instructed their pilot with a dismissive wave as Reardon found himself a place to sit. As Hux took his own seat, it was then that Reardon noticed the satchel he held by the the handle with both gloved hands. Once he'd settled himself, he placed it lovingly in his lap and Reardon began to feel tiny beads of sweat roll down his spine. He only stopped staring at the thing with foreboding once he noticed it was taking a peculiar amount of time for the pilot to make their craft airborne. The feeble manner in which the man fettered about his controls made him appear almost as if he was trying to fly the craft with both wrists tied together.

And then Supreme Leader Hux began to take notice.

"Please excuse our comrade here, if you would be so kind," he beseeched. It was... most unlike the General to be so charitable, to say the least. "Piloting a shuttle is not a normal part of his duties. Remind me your designation again, soldier?"

The man visibly swallowed as he perched his chin on his shoulder to face the superior officer that had addressed him. His face was ashen in the glow of his HUD, and soaked with sweat.

"AJ-4318, my Lord. Ninth Imperial."

"Ninth Imperial," the General repeated, enunciating each syllable so succinctly it was as if he was tasting the words themselves. "Did you know, Moff Reardon, that they call themselves the Gale Force?"

"I did not, m'Lord. We, um... we don't hear much out on Hoth, I fear."

"Oh no, of course not. I suppose you wouldn't."

The pilot didn't appear to take any pride in the moniker. At least, not at this time. Wordlessly he let his chin slide back into place as he resumed his task. After a few bumps and bounces, they soon found themselves taxiing past the force field terminating the star destroyer's hangar bay, leaving the warmth and comfort of atmosphere behind for open space.

"If I may be so bold, your Excellecy," Reardon gambled, feeling anything but bold as the stars swept past outside. "Might I inquire why Endor's star wasn't chosen as our first test subject?"

"A capital question," Hux answered, his weird, manic positivity persisting. Ordinarily, questioning the methods and stated objectives of one's superiors would be considered a punishable offense. "Logistically, it was simply a poor candidate, for likely obvious reasons." They were likely obvious, but Reardon wanted to hear what he had to say about them. "For every piece of Death Star trash that litters Endor's ecliptic plane, countless others are scattered about the moons and planets of the system. Should the unthinkable happen and something go terribly wrong, why... it would be nearly impossible to determine what pieces floating about were ours and which were theirs. And besides..."

And with that last word, their final destination twinkled like a buttery yellow-pink bulb on their viewport. Still distant, yet easily identifiable from where they hovered near the system star.

Bespin.

"Endor isn't nearly as strategically advantageous, should we succeed."

And the vulpine grin that split his face as he gazed at the tiny gas giant in the distance... that was what had confirmed Moff Reardon's suspicions. This wasn't about logistics. This was a personal vendetta against a capitalist mogul who was historically guilty of false neutrality, and laundering money to their enemy. This was an opportunity for revenge.

But that still didn't explain why Moff Reardon was brought here. Specifically.

"Keep us held in position," Hux ordered their pilot as he rose from his seat and placed the satchel down where he'd sat. They were as close to the star as they could justifiably get. Which meant there was still one step they would need to complete before construction could truly begin in earnest.

"My Lord," Reardon spoke up, quick to remind him, "if I may beg your pardon. I am as eager to kick off our development phase as anyone else, but radiation is still a consideration we must take into account. And each star has a different baseline profile. We will still need an inorganic work force that is specifically suited to this star's normative levels, adjusting for what variance we can, outside the event of solar flare. And we will still need a relay station put in place for their programming, using the same protocols to keep communications from being interrupted."

"Of course," Hux answered him. Too easily, too casually. "Everything has been prepared. Would this not suit your needs?"

At this he produced a datapad from his pocket. After drawing a few gestures on the display screen he passed the thing to Reardon for his inspection. What he'd brought up appeared to be another set of blueprints - these detailing the manufacture of radiation shield plating for droids.

"I had one of your junior officers draw these up," he told him smugly, crossing his arms over his chest. "I saw no need in troubling you with such a menial task."

"No, no," Reardon replied, "these would likely be sufficient, at first glance. Have they been field tested?"

"Has anything been field tested yet?" Hux laughed. But it was a cold, mirthless thing that sent shivers down Reardon's spine. "Is that not the point of this exercise?! Is _this_ ," he swung a hand toward the viewport, "not a test?!"

"O-of course, my Lord. Of course. You are absolutely correct," he was forced to concede. "We will make any adjustments we need as we encounter them. How many do we have outfitted in these at this time? Because, again to state the obvious, this is a star we're dealing with. I would never dream of putting delays on this project as time is naturally one of our highest priorities, but strategically speaking... I will need whole squadrons of these."

"Moff Reardon..." the General purred at him. And he braced for impact. He'd let his words get away from him. Lieutenant Allerset would never have said such things. The gleam in the man's eye was salacious and murderous, and it squeezed a swallow of terror down Reardon's throat so vile it made his mouth run dry. "Don't you see? We have everything we need... right here."

"But, I... I-I don't understand..."

With a swiftness that made him flinch against his will and better judgment, the Supreme Leader retrieved a blaster pistol from beneath his jacket and swung it around. Before the man even knew what was happening to him, Hux took aim and blew a hole through the head of AJ-4318 with Ninth Imperial. A stalwart officer of the Gale Force. Scorched fragments of gore splattered against the viewport as the man's face collapsed against his controls. His lifeless body slumped and slid out of his seat to land on the floor with a thud, and it was then that Reardon could clearly see that his wrists had, in fact, been bound by a pair of metal cuffs.

"Everything we need," Hux repeated, replacing the pistol to its hidden holster. " _Everything_. And in return, a small tithe such as this."

Moff Reardon performed his duty to the letter. He was an officer, a scientist, and a professional. He did not cry out. He did not shrink in fear. He did not gag or retch, he did not dissolve into panicked hysterics. But he did avoid eye contact. With anything, outside of that tiny point of light outside, so near yet so far away. And though his stomach threatened to betray him as his blood boiled in his veins, baked by the star burning just outside their tiny craft, he kept his fists clamped onto the sides of his seat and he kept his lips pinched tightly together. He kept his faculties tightly together.

Because otherwise, at any moment he could be next.

Was this what General Hux had begged for him to witness?

The man began to meticulously peel off his gloves, first one and then the other. And then he reached for the satchel.

Moff Reardon knew what was about to happen.

The Infinite Engine required fuel. A small amount of fuel. A tithe.

And then it would endlessly create. Endlessly, anything. _Everything_. From... next to nothing. Only a nameless soldier from the Ninth Imperial.

"Behold," was Hux's only preamble as he held the thing aloft. It's smooth, spherical surface caught the rays of the sun, and sent rippled rainbows of opalescence to dance nimbly across it. It was as beautiful as it was evil. Irridescent wickedness shone from it, beaming like a demon offering a tempting yet poisonous contract. It sang like a seething choir of whispers clawing through the back of his mind, and it made promises too fantastical to be believed. It was soft and smooth and lovely and nefarious.

It was power and seduction.

And it had a taste for blood.

But Moff Reardon did as he was bid. He followed his orders. His orders were to witness, and witness he did. And what he saw he could scarcely make his brain comprehend.

It began with what he could only describe as a divet or a dimple... but a dimple in reality itself. Like a distortion in his three-dimensional way of perceiving the universe. And then the Engine left General Hux's hands to float like a shiny metal marble over that dip in the corporeal fabric of their existence before it crashed into it, puncturing a hole with heavy gravity, tearing into some great, unknown beyond.

Out of a shock and reflex he could not suppress, Reardon recoiled in his seat, terrified of being bodily sucked into that hole, and yet... he felt no such pull or strain. He expected the suffocating grasp of being yanked out an air lock, but there was nothing. Not even a light breeze. The tear was utterly silent.

And then the dead body beneath the pilot's chair began to move, as if possessed.

It tumbled and rolled toward the singularity from where it lay, the way a heavy sack of kitchen garbage would amble its way down a compactor chute. And when it reached that otherworldly event horizon, the place where AJ-4318's fingertips landed upon its lip... his body began to disintegrate. Not in a bloody, sludgey, organic sort of way, and not like through some chemical process such as immolation or anything involving acid. It was as if he was made of plasteel, and every inch of him that was slowly pulled into that hole got shaved away, grated into tiny pieces like dust, swirling away to disappear into a void of nothingness.

No one would ever see or hear from AJ-4318 again. There would be no physical evidence of him left behind. He had gone to feed the Engine. And when he was truly well and gone, with a blip and a pop that Reardon felt deep in his eardrums, reality snapped back into place once more.

And the Engine returned itself to Hux's outstretched hand.

Reardon began to involuntarily shake. Every fiber of his being was quaking with terror. His breath was racing in and out through the dry passages of his nostrils. It was everything he could do to keep from losing control of his bladder. The most malevolent instrument of death he'd ever seen was neither an orbital station that mimicked a moon, nor a commandeered and weaponized rogue planet. It was instead a small, round... _thing_ no bigger than the size of a man's fist or heart. And it took its residence in the hands of a maniac.

Which was what it had made him, General Armitage Hux. The man had always been ambitious, had always a lust for power, but never like this. This... _thing_ sought these traits out in him and used them to twist him, to corrupt him, and with it, bring ruin to their Order. To the whole of the galaxy. Because now this _thing_ sat at the head of the greatest fleet the galaxy had ever seen. And it would cleave a swath of destruction that nothing could stop, that had no end.

This _thing_ wasn't order. It was chaos.

It was antithetical. It was anathema.

But then, as if sensing his thoughts and in a bid to prove him wrong, the thing began to perform the rest of its magic. It began to execute the second half of its dark pact.

It began to glow and hum. The viewport began to rattle in its fixtures, threatening to leak their precious life support to the merciless vacuum of space. Etchings like mathematical veins pulsed with light across its surface and it began to crack open and swell in size. What once was a smooth and solid facade was now a writhing mass of bright fissures. Mechanical tectonic plates slid open to reveal others shifting beneath them, vying for their positions. And as it grew it began to become more diaphanous and transluscent. Intangible. And when Reardon's seat began to vibrate beneath him, unsettling him to the point he considered finding his feet, a wide beam of light shot out from the thing - past the console, past the viewport, and straight out into the cold, black, sunlit aura outside.

"Now you will see," Hux murmured lovingly, enraptured, his face bathed in soft, diffuse light.

Particles appeared, traveling along the wide expanse of that beam. They glittered and flickered and frolicked about each other like little bugs skimming the tips of shadowy grasses late, late at night. But then they began to clump together and form solid shapes, and those shapes merged to form larger, more cohesive structures. And before Reardon's very eyes, a platform began to materialize out of nothing - something long, flat, and recognizable. From the empty nullity of space.

"It's... it's a -"

"It's a magnetic staging platform," Hux told him with authority, never peeling his eyes away from the shaft of light outside. "We can't just have your squadrons of fortified, shield-plated droids drifting off into that star, now can we? After all of our hard work?"

After AJ-4318's untimely demise...

"O-of course not, sir," Reardon managed to stutter. "But... but what about -"

"Lieutenant," the General interrupted him, calling for his attache after having used one finger to press a button on the control board. "Please relay a message to the Enforcer. We're ready, whenever they are in range."

Upright digital ghosts began to appear out on that platform - the skeletons of droids being wholly drawn into existence. Whole hoards of them at one time. From nothing. Piece by piece they took their form until they were fully functionally embodied works of machinery. And when their number grew so great that Reardon feared no more would fit on the platform, the long, sharp nose of the star destroyer, the Enforcer, cruised into their periphery. From her hangar bay an AAL transport ship was dispatched to carry out its task of ferrying each completed batch back to the more ample confines of the much larger ship.

"How many can the, uh..." Reardon forced himself to ask what he needed to ask in a manner that was more palatable. "How many can we make on our... on the one... source of fuel?"

"All of them."

But how many was that? Three thousand? Three hundred thousand? Three million? All they had were blueprints, and the rest was guess work! How many heads would roll if those guesses were wrong? Enough to fuel the reparations for their mistakes?! Hux could build entire galaxies if he chose to, but... who would be left to live in them? Moff Reardon chose to sigh his concerns instead of voicing them, while finally unbinding his muscles enough to settle deeper into his seat. He fastidiously picked at a fuzz ball that had imbedded itself in the seam of his pantleg. Nothing good would come from asking any further questions. He was in for the wait.

"We'll return to the Aggressor momentarily," Hux said in an attempt to mollify him, noticing his unease. "I would like at least an introductory force at our disposal before we adjourn. My next set of instructions for you, however, are succinct and necessary, as I'm sure you'll agree, and are entirely within your purview." He never stopped staring down the length of his arm at that... machine. "As you said, we will need a relay station in place. I would like one of your new satellite posts put in orbit around Bespin."

"There will be pushback from Calrissian," Reardon answered him. "He'll decry it violates their statutes of neutrality."

"Calrissian's own bank ledgers violate his statutes of neutrality," Hux sneered in reply. "It takes us minutes to build the kind of firepower it would take him months or even years to procure. What can he do? He has no choice."

Hux barked a cruel, harsh peal of laughter, and for a moment... nothing more than an instant... the lights within the Engine pulsed a sickly, mustard yellow.

"It would seem Calrissian Enterprises is about to experience an increase in bureaucratic oversight. We'll just see who has to play nice... this time."

* * *

A tickle across her face awoke her. At first, Rey thought it was a piece of her own hair. Without opening her eyes, she pulled the strand away from her nose, careful not to peek at the strip lighting running the length of the passage from the barrack to the 'fresher. If she saw it, she'd have to use it, and she was not ready to rouse just yet.

But then then the strand mewled at her in muffled Wookinese, and tickled her chin as a heavy paw rustled her shoulder. It was time to put the freighter on course for Takodana. But... couldn't he do it himself? What did he need her for?

"Chewie," she whined, doing her best to acknowledge him without waking anyone else up. Their bunks were stacked tightly together, it was no small feat.

The Wookie grumbled low in his throat in response with no greater volume, but with an added intensity that told her unequivocally that the need was urgent. And it didn't have anything to do with coordinates or subspace flight times or autopilots. In surrender, she sighed, rolled over, and opened her eyes. He backed away and silently beckoned for her to follow him. There was apparently a situation... a delicate one he felt was better handled by someone with her... unique set of abilities.

"What has he done?" she groaned, but Chewbacca gave no answer. He only flung his pelted arm again before softly padding down the corridor. One begrudging 'fresher use later, she finally found her friend one deck below, waiting expectantly at the entrance to the main commons. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes, she pushed her hair back, and she walked inside.

And immediately her blood pressure rose so quickly she could hear it exploding in her ears.

It took everything in her power not to scream his name at him, but Ben Solo was notorious for being wildly unpredictable when startled awake from a dead sleep.

Which was his current state.

But _not_ where he was supposed to be.

And he was not alone.

He was with someone from whom she felt she truly could have expected better. There was still a hand of sabacc on the table between them, in mid-play. Omar had clearly been losing to the son of Han Solo, and had likely dozed off trying to plot his next move, knowing it wouldn't be enough to save him. His opponent had only followed suit in the down time, likely a result of the late hour. The doctor's cards were still in his hands, but his head was down and his chin was pressed againt his chest, and he was snoring with a slow, steady rhythm. Ben Solo, on the other hand, had given up and tucked his face into the crook of his elbow, on the table. They both looked so peaceful. It was a shame they were both such idiots.

She wanted to be amused, but couldn't get past the flood of horror and rage. She didn't know which impulse to act upon first, or even which man to destroy first, but she knew she couldn't leave the scene as it was. If anyone else had awakened to wander down here, the pandemonium that would have ensued... little children, screaming... or stars forbid Finn or Rose... thank the Force Poe was on the transport ship...

After all she'd gone through to get him off of the Vindicator, and out of a crashed TIE fighter, or off of Prakith in a fire fight, or out of the clutches of bloodthirsty bounty hunters, and then back again onto this ship despite protest... he couldn't follow _one simple rule?!_ To just keep some bloody order?! Was that too much to ask?! Something within her snapped and she saw red. The entire galaxy, it seemed, had seen fit to take her for granted for the last time. She had had enough. If Ben Solo thought Luke was scary, then he had another thing coming. He was going to answer to _her_ this time. She squared her feet, she pounded her fists into her hips, and she jerked her chin, calling upon the Force to bump the table.

"Having a great time here, I see!"

"Sweet Mother of Makers!" Omar cried out in surprise, falling out of his chair. Ben Solo leaped back in his seat so hard he fell all the way onto his back, bashing his knees into the table top as his arms grasped at open air.

Cards flew everywhere - it was an absolute riot of sudden commotion. Her staff against the wall was sent to clatter noisily to the ground. The chairs and table screeched and yawped against the tiles of the deck floor. The dice went flying to bounce and roll every which way, and the dented metal thermos on the table fell over and knocked into everything in its path.

Omar tried to stand up again, but immediately lost his balance and went back down, reaching for his chair but only yanking it around ineffectually.

"Holy kriffing pit snacks, woman, what are you -"

"What do you mean, 'what am I?!' What are you?! And _you!_ " She rounded on Ben with flaming fury in her eyes, but all she found in his was shock and fear, and a tiny, endearing gleam of awe. "Have you any idea the _hell_ I've had to pay for you?! Come here! Get up!"

She reached for his hand to help him to his feet, but he was bigger and heavier than she anticipated. And... weirdly uncoordinated. He had an uncharacteristically difficult time getting his feet beneath him and ended up tipping over sideways, nearly pulling her down with him.

"What on earth are you doi- stop, come here! Get -"

Her next command hung unfinished in the air.

Because Omar Entero had started... laughing?

She nearly lost her stars forsaken mind. He was about to become a dead man.

In the entryway, Chewbacca merely crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the door frame. Uselessly. Because another useless male was exactly what she needed. Rey flung an angry finger at the whooping doctor on the floor.

"I know you're not laughing at me!"

"I told you she'd kick your ass!" he bellowed in return, presumably not at her.

She left her other hand clamped onto Ben Solo's wrist. With all her might and body weight pivoting on her center of gravity, she tugged at him with one mighty pull. It was either that or force choke him until he stood back up on his own. Which she hadn't entirely ruled out. But when he was finally towering over her again, finally on his own two feet... he rubbed at one eye, and then began to topple and sway alarmingly. He reached out to grip her shoulder and steady himself, and he drew up close to her. Very close. So close a lock of thick, black hair swept across the tip of her nose. So close she had to plant the palm of her hand against his chest to keep him from stepping on her.

"What on - what is wrong with you?"

So close she had to suppress the flush that crept over her every time she found herself touching him like this. So close she could feel his warmth... could feel his breath on her face...

And it smelled like whiskey.

Like fiery laser beams, her eyes zoomed in and locked position onto the thermos on the table, and the two empty tin cups beside it.

"Oh my st- is that...? Is that what I think it is?!" she grilled the doctor, whose arm was stretched out over the top of the table, allowing his head to rest on his shoulder. "What have you done!"

"Don' be too hard on 'im," he slurred, wagging a finger and wheezing from laughing so hard. "He's completely smashed. S'not his fault."

He wasn't the only one. They were both hammered beyond all sense.

"So are you! Did _you_ do this?!"

"Relaaaax," the word was his biggest mistake - it was enough to put her into nuclear meltdown mode, "it was just a little bit of -"

"Of _what?! Fun?!_ Don't you dare say, 'fun,' to me! Is that what this is to you, fun and games?! Is that it?!"

"We just hadda -"

"Don't tell me you haaaaad to do anything! What you _needed_ to do was try a little personal responsibility! And don't you tell me to relax! You, y-you," her temper was taxing her brain faster than her mouth could vent the frustration, "you _bad, bad man!_ You ought to be ashamed of yourselves - both of you! Can you imagine what would have happened?!"

At this, she swung her gaze back into Ben Solo's eyes, scant few inches from her own. It was tough for her to decipher the look he gave her. He was enthralled and engrossed, yet... oddly unfocused and inattentive. More like he was staring at a work of art in search of its meaning, ignorant to the conversation taking place around him. His dark eyes were the color of warm spiced honey in the dim light from the mess unit, and he still managed to stare a thousand miles into her with the same earnest intensity he usually did. He always knew how to unsettle her with his eyes, and pluck the strings of that thing she kept hidden in the back of her mind, that thing she refused to name.

"Can you imagine what would have happened?" she asked him again, losing some of her volume to the depths of that look in his eyes. "If Kaia or Bo had come down here? To find Kylo Ren just sitting here, eighteen inches from his lightsaber, like, like..." she waved her hand up and down to indicate the length of his entire frame, "like this? In _this_ state?

"We are still at war." She let go of his wrist and grabbed him by both of his shoulders. "And, like, a week ago? You were still the Supreme Leader of the First Order. No one has forgotten that just yet."

"No one's forgotten anything," Omar muttered from where he sat crosslegged on the floor. "That's the whole point. We just... couldn't sleep. I almost lost my daughter today. Don't know what I would have done."

It was true. Well, mostly. When they'd arrived in the commons while it had still been under siege, the girl seemed to have been handling the sights on her blaster fairly confidently on her own, but... for how much longer? Mandalorians were certainly not to be underestimated, and were not known for giving up. The encounter had shown Rey a side of Omar Entero that she hadn't seen before. Something animal and rabid. Something savage. This war was changing everybody around her, including herself... and the results weren't always so pretty.

"You're so... angry," Ben finally said to her as if reading her mind, drawing her attention back to him. His voice was soft and drowsy and laggard. His eyes were wandering all over her face, exploring her, sweeping over every feature. They followed the planes of her cheekbones, the curves of her eyebrows, the fans of her lashes... the line of her nose, the dip beneath it... the swell of her lips... His shoulders lifted with every breath, the way they did once in a forest on Churruma, back when he was so angry. Back then, the last time she felt his shoulder like this, firm beneath her hand... he was so angry at her then - so angry at himself, because she meant something to him that he still couldn't kill. Because he wanted it to live.

Her thoughts, like dark clouds, touched the horizon where their two minds met, and his eyebrows knitted together.

"Anger is the path to the dark side, Rey." She couldn't register just how ridiculous his words had sounded because his large, warm hands had smoothed their way down her arms to cup her elbows, offering her a small part of something the blanket in her bunk just couldn't. Gooseflesh raised all over her skin involuntarily from head to toe. She struggled with something alright... but she wasn't always so sure it was the dark side of the Force.

"I'm worried... 'bout you," he whispered to her, as if they were the only two people in the room.

In the universe.

She held his gaze and all of her anger drained from her. The chill left her, and she just stared into his open face letting his breath billow over her like steam. Her eyelids grew heavy and she fought the urge to sink into him. To let him catch her. Even though he was too drunk to handle his own body weight with any modicum of dexterity. But she was just so exhausted from carrying the weight of the galaxy that hearing someone else acknowledge her own fears in exactly the same way - someone who knew her in a way that no one else did... it made her feel that maybe she could just put it all down for a minute and rest.

She had snapped at him tonight. At both of them. The noose around her neck had grown tight.

"'M worried they'll push you t'a place you can't come back from," he continued, each word a little gift to her that only they would share. His voice could scarcely be heard over the air passing through the ventilation system. "I've been there."

"I know you have," she told him.

"Oooookay," Omar crooned as he smacked one hand on the table and finally hauled himself up onto his feet. He clapped his hands together and rubbed them to ward off the requisite starship cold. "While I'm glad you two are finally putting some effort into some constructive communication, this is, uh..." he rubbed the back of his neck in obvious discomfort, "this looks like a private conversation. I'm going back to bed. Goodnight."

"I'm not done with you!" Rey yelled at his back as he turned to make his way past Chewbacca. "We'll finish this in the morning!"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah..." The man only waved a hand and grumbled something unintelligible as he disappeared down the corridor. Chewbacca then bleated a short, curt apology for the intrusion as his long, harried strides carried him quickly past the holoprojetor and up the small flight of steps into the cockpit. He likely wouldn't be back to bed after this, the Wookie was an unsufferably early riser. He would program the coordinates for their approach to Takodana and then his next stop would be to initiate final checks on the freighter's landing gear, fuel up the Twilight Zephyr, set all weapons' power packs back to charging mode, do a little more light cleanup, and... make a pot of strong, black caf.

And if he was up, others would soon be joining him. Particularly the children, who found him thorougly fascinating, like a giant, walking, talking stuffed toy.

So... it was time to put Ben Solo back to bed. In his jail cell. Where he belonged. Even if it put an ill pit in her gut that she had trouble understanding.

He clung to her touch as she took a step back in an attempt to lead him. She slid her hands off of his shoulders and down the lengths of his arms until his fingers were folded inside of hers. But his eyes never fell away. He stumbled and couldn't walk straight, his hair swung and batted him across his cheeks as he gripped her tightly, but those glassy cinnamon eyes never left her. The color of old leather and dark wood.

He tumbled heavily onto his lumpy, spongy mattress with a loud and solid creak, and by the time she had the golden energy barrier back up behind them he'd already wadded himself back into a nest of thin, coarse blankets. Afraid he'd be sick like he'd been the other day when he'd awoken after a crash landing and an emergency surgery, she planted a knee into the bed to hoist herself up and reach for the basin that had been replaced to a shelf above the bed's headboard, tucked into the curvature of the thing along with a hidden reading lamp. But as her fingers were stretching and fumbling for it, she felt a puff of air... just where her night robe loosely crisscrossed over the cleft between her breasts.

It felt like warm breath... and it was the first time in her life she'd ever felt such a sensation in... _that_ place.

And again, apparently not for the last time, Rey was made quite aware that she was alone with Kylo Ren. With... Ben Solo.

In his bedroom.

She risked a glance down in search of those eyes that hadn't left hers since the very moment she'd come stampeding into the commons like a roaring sandstorm... and found they had finally ceased making contact with her own. They were, instead, indulging in the sight of her skin. A warm tingle spread through her like a slow roll of thunder, and lingered in places that put pink on her cheeks and stole her breath. She became acutely aware of the weave of the fabric that brushed against the tips of her nipples.

Yet to her surprise, he behaved nothing like the slavering glutton she'd expected out of a man who'd caught a mere glimpse down the front of a woman's shirt. At least, nothing like the men she'd seen back at Niima Outpost. There was nothing lascivious in the way he looked at her, nothing predatory or wolfish. Nothing that made her feel afraid. In fact... the opposite.

His eyes were clouded and full of appreciation and a muted, sedate curiosity. Full of reverence and admiration.

Full of worship. And with no threat of touch.

And though the peek was stolen and clandestine, and probably pretty natural for a young male being sat astride by a pretty girl, it still carried with it a measure of solemnity and respect.

And it sat at the very root of the changing nature of their relationship. Every day that passed it grew more different. There was a time when it was easy to think of Kylo Ren as a creature, a spectre. A thing. A time when it had been easy to strip any identity away from him outside of a glowing red blade and a sinister black cloak. It had been easier in every way, because acknowledging him as a human being with reasons and impulses and drives and needs was... complex. It was even more so to imagine him as something capable of... sexuality.

It was even stranger to consider her own.

It came uncomfortably close to prying that... thing out of the box in her mind... close to making her really, really look at it.

So in the interest of decorum, she coughed and twisted up the folds of the robe in her fingers. Instantly, like a thief caught in the act, he gasped and his eyes snapped to hers once more. His lips fell open and he winced in anticipation of being scolded. It was only then he'd realized what he'd been doing. But she could only roll her eyes and laugh.

Kylo Ren was just bound for a life of trouble.

"Here," she told him with a sigh as she perched herself on the mattress' edge, presenting the basin to him before setting it on the floor beside the bed. "In case you, uh... in case you need it tonight."

She stood and left him wriggling to get comfortable, propping himself up to lean back on his elbows. Unconsciously she tied her robe a bit tighter around her waist as she made her way to the 'fresher to fill a small glass of water. When she returned to him, she gave him no chance of refusal.

"Drink this," she commanded. " _Slowly_."

She could see him more clearly now, in the light from the lamp near his bed. The strain of living on the blade's edge between fight or flight round the clock for the past few days had ringed his eyes and made him pale. The stress of it had broken her down as well, and made her weary. Sleep had come easily to her, but she could understand how it might not be so easy for others. Adrenalin didn't always depart so gracefully.

He hummed in delight as the water slid down his throat. What had started as small, tentative sips evolved quickly into mindless guzzling, and before she knew it the water in the glass was gone.

"Slowly!" she chastised him, but lacking any venom. Thinking back, she couldn't remember seeing him eat or drink anything over the past few days, outside of a ration bar. No wonder he was still awake. No wonder he was so eager to drink down the first thing put into his hands. She was going to skin that hairbrained, good-for-nothing doctor alive, first thing in the morning. She took the glass from him again to refill it.

"I mean it this time," she lectured him over her shoulder while she held the thing under the faucet. "I know it's cool and it feels good, but you have to sip this. You're dehydrated, and we don't want to make you sick if we don't have to." Along with the glass she also brought a wet cloth to use as a compress for his forehead.

"Here," she bid him as he brought another drink of sweet, fresh water to his lips. His eyelids began to droop and his face hung limp over the rim of his glass.

She should have just gone back to bed, to try to get another forty-five minutes of shut eye before the children woke up demanding to play games and watch holovids on the large, old projector. It was only a matter of time before their giggles and squeals and the pounding of their racing feet would fill every corner and straightaway of the giant freighter. She should be taking advantage of every minute of quiet she could get. She should be letting him pass out and sleep off the effects of his inebriation before they made him... grumpy. But there was something she couldn't get out of her mind. Something she wanted to ask. She just didn't know how to work her way around to it. It was sensitive, and she wasn't sure she was ready for the answer.

"I..." she began anyway, using the fingers of one hand to pick at the fingernails on the other. She knew she was still... sitting on his bed. Alone with him. It made her nervous. But not nervous enough to leave, not this time. "I know that... you... probably don't find this arrangement to be ideal. I know this has to seem..." she lifted a hand toward the doorway, toward the curtain of crackling amber energy on the other side of it, "degrading. I get that. I know what it's like to feel like... like the whole universe has shrunken in on you. I know you must feel like you've only traded one prison for another. But...

"It doesn't matter what I think. My opinion... it's just one. Out of many. And to these people, you're still the man who kidnapped Ali. For reasons we don't know. You're still the man who hunted us, hunted Jedi. Amongst... others." She didn't feel the need to get specific, he knew what she was saying. "You're still very scary to these people.

"And even though I know your thoughts as if they were my own... even though I think I know very well the reasons why you've left that life behind you... even though the very thought of it fills me with the only hope I can honestly manage to summon anymore... these people? They still don't trust you. And I don't think you can blame them."

She laced her fingers together and laid them in her lap, as she shifted her hips to cross her ankles out in front of her. A lock of hair came loose from her ponytail and fell down to catch against her eyelashes. Sheepishly, she tucked it behind her ear. She still remembered a time when it was so easy to list his crimes to his face and launch them at him like ballistic missiles. She remembered almost enjoying the way she would foam at the mouth and stab at him with words as sharp as barbs. But now... her position was different. She was in between now. And it was probably a factor contributing to her stress.

"You're here now. And you have the rest of your life ahead of you. And I believe what you told me, back in the temple. I believe you. There are people out there who seek to profit off of us... off of what they can make us do. And they can't do that unless we give them what they want. Unless we... do the things they want. And..." she twisted her fists into her robe, her voice tightening into a hoarse whisper, "and they'll make us.

"But you're here now, Ben Solo, and you have an opportunity to..." try as she might, she couldn't keep a line of tears from building in her eyes, "to _help me_. To help _you_... bring justice to the people who did what they did to you. And you..." She took a deep breath and pushed it back out again with a huff. The conviction in her words was important. He needed to hear it. So she flattened the fabric back out over her thighs, she set her jaw, and continued. "You have allies. You _do_. These people, they want to believe in you. The way I do. They want you here. They just..." she shrugged, "they just want you in _here_ first. I know it's hard, I know it's lonely and it's boring, but... can you do this? Just for a little while? Just for good faith?"

She turned to seek his umber eyes once more...

But found them closed, smashed deeply into his pillow where it was sandwiched between his face and the length of his arm. The empty water glass had fallen sideways out of his fingers. She smiled and laughed and shook her head. Wordlessly, she rose and collected the little cup, and tiptoed to the 'fresher to put it back where it belonged. But as she reached out through the Force to toggle the switch on the energy barrier, presumably the same way Ben had earlier to make his escape and have a late night party with the giant hypocrite, Omar Entero, she heard his small, sleepy voice call to her from the bed.

"Why did you come back... for me?"

She turned to face him, where he lay stretched all out on one side, long and broad from head to toe. She crossed her arms tightly around her middle, and drew her shoulders up close.

"Because it was the right thing to do. And it wasn't just me," she told him. "I mean, I fought for you, yes, I did, I know that, but... we all agreed. All of us. We all decided to come back, it wasn't just me.

"Look," she said, taking a step toward him, "I know that this Resistance carries a different meaning to you, something none of us have lived through, something that none of us would understand. But for me... for _all_ of us... it's a place for second chances and new beginnings. It's a belief that this whole galaxy and everyone in it deserves the choice to leave their past behind. That they deserve the freedom to make a future that's better."

"Hmph," he barked an acrid laugh, the way he usually did when preparing to ridicule the monotonous drone of his mother's rhetoric. And truthfully, she could hear how naive and quixotic she sounded. But this time, that didn't happen. All he did was hang his head, mournfully. This time there was no bluster, no vicious, despotic soliloquy. Just an overdue need for good, uninterrupted rest. And the sorrow of being enlightened by how things in the galaxy actually worked.

"I'm not free," he told her.

"I know," she hoped to reassure him, "not yet, but... you will be. Someday."

He pulled a face as he rolled a pinch of blanket between his fingertips. He sniffed and wrinkled his nose and pursed his lips, just for a moment and then it was gone. But Rey didn't miss it. It was the flaw in his armor, leaking skepticism and his sense of neverending destitution. Repugnant hopelessness. She should have known such a sentiment would be totally wasted on him.

"You've heard that before, haven't you," she guessed with educated accuracy.

"Someone told you they'd come back for you once, too... didn't they?"

He didn't say it to wound her, far from it. This was the tie that bound them. This was his touchstone of solidarity. This was the thing that brought him comfort and provided him companionship. This was the method he used to seek such a thing - again, everything with Ben Solo was subtext, was read between the lines, was what made it past his mental approval process. She was learning. He found his coveted camaraderie in repeating the lies that defined them both. The husks they both hoped to shed... together.

"Yes... someone did," she answered him. "And that's why I'm not leaving anyone behind."

And finally she felt emboldened enough to ask the question that had plagued her since Chewie had alerted her and brought her to find him sitting outside his cage. She drug one foot behind her to hook it around her other ankle.

"Why," she asked him, "did you stay? Here, with us? Why didn't you run? Like... I get it, I know your ship isn't exactly in the best shape, but... it is operational.. Why didn't you leave?"

 _Why didn't you leave me behind?_

She could tell by the way he narrowed his eyes at her, he could sense her true meaning through the emotional conduit of their bond in the Force. He got his elbow underneath him and pushed himself up again, using his other hand to brush back his hair and comb the tangles from it. It was plainly a question he'd been asking himself. He was here, though. And there was a reason for it.

"Because. This room?" he said as he pulled the blankets around him and sat back up in his bed to lean against the wall. "It doesn't matter. That barrier? Those stun cuffs? None of it does. I could have my saber and be ten parsecs from here by now, and it wouldn't matter. I'm not free. I'm hunted for vengeance, I'm hunted for sport. I'm hunted because I'm strong with the Force. I'm hunted for money, for honor. It doesn't matter.

"I could storm the Vindicator by myself and take the Engine from Hux's cold, dead hands. I could crush it into oblivion before you ever laid your eyes on it, and it wouldn't matter. They'd just make me your enemy again and reignite their precious holy war. We'd be right back where we started."

He leaned forward onto his knees and sang his songs of despondency and disdain to the mattress underneath him.

"I could claim the Engine for myself and sculpt the entire universe into a vision of my own making... but it could never give me anything that would ever make me... h-happy." The word gave him trouble. He stumbled on it and choked. "You and me? We're never free. But at least..."

His voice trailed off and he looked up at her. His eyes were wide and shining, the fog of drunkenness was beginning to lift from them.

"At least here there's some purpose." He looked down again at his hands as his fingers wound together. "That's more than... than I've ever had. Ever."

"I think that's the only good thing I've been able to take away from all of this," she replied, staring at her feet as she made her way back to the bed to sit down. She turned to face him where he sat across the mattress from her, fiddling once more with a clump of blanket between his fingertips. "I don't know what the Force has in store for me, and I don't know if I'll succeed. I don't even know if I'll live or die. But at least I can serve some purpose."

"Just... don't let that purpose make you a fool to the wrong people," he whispered more to himself than to her.

Like he did once. With Snoke. With... _these_ people. The same greedy, underworld consortium that bade her do their dirty work, who had coerced her into a position with no way out. The same gun to her head that forced her to show the galaxy a mask of hope where none could be found. She knew those people well.

She was so glad she wasn't alone.

"We're not the wrong people, are we?" she asked him. "You said something... a minute ago. You said, 'make me your enemy... again.' As if? You know..." She wasn't sure what she was asking him, but it was a curious choice of words. She wondered if he'd noticed he'd even said it.

His opened his mouth and he glanced up at her from the corner of his eye, for all appearances a young man who'd been caught unaware and stymied by his own words. It was too late - the implication of such a statement had already been laid bare between them, as bare as the naked divide between her breasts that she'd willingly bestowed upon him just previously. He lifted his chin the way he usually did when affronted, but he wasn't going to be able to Skywalker-arrogance his way out of this one, not this time. They both knew what he'd just admitted.

"Does that mean... we're okay? You and me?" she pressed him to the spot, almost as if teasing him. She knew had him. "We've established that I'm not nothing to you, but... you're not mad at me? Because of all this?"

So he deflected instead. Typical.

"Am I your prisoner because you're afraid I'll leave you?"

Rey could only smile at his obvious defense mechanism, so slippery. A conditioned response from years of mistreatment. His clear and present desire for closeness and intimacy was thwarted every single time by his tragic inability to trust. She was able to interpret it and forgive it because she identified so readily with it herself. They were the same.

And she supposed it was true. The pure and primal rage that had consumed her earlier had only burned her so badly because it meant he could have left her at any time. She'd been confronted with her inability to lock him in a cage of her own making, and it was fear that had fed her fire - fear and a raw, intrinsic heartache that told her she could never have kept him there with her against his own free will.

So, she decided to let him win this round. Because it was a win for them both. She was as desperate for him to stay with her as he was to simply be wanted. This was the place where their two halves met.

"Yes," she confessed to him with a warm, sad smile. And he put that chin back down where it belonged. Disarmed. Not everything was warfare, Ben Solo.

He was silenced, confounded and speechless. He'd become suddenly too shy to even look at her. And she found an excitable thrill in having provoked such an emotional response from him - from having given him something he'd longed for so badly, something she knew they both did. It rattled that silver chain that tied them together. It fluttered in her belly and filled her with a satisfaction that reached all the way up to her eyeballs.

"I know it's tough to sleep in a strange place surrounded by strange people," she told him with a sigh as she stood once more, fussing with her robe as she headed toward the door, "but no one's going to hurt you here. You are wanted here. So I hope you can go back to sleep. This might be the last good rest we get."

With the flick of a wrist, she brought the energy barrier down, freeing her egress to the other side.

"I'll see you in the morning," she imparted with a long last look. He'd already shoved one shoulder back down into the mattress and turned away from her to face the wall. He mumbled something incoherent to her as he flung a hand into the air. The lights went off and the door on his side of the barrier wooshed shut peremptorily on its own.

He could shut down the moment all he wanted, but it happened. She felt him, and she saw him. It happened. He couldn't hide his insecurities from her. He couldn't close his vulnerability behind that door. But as she crossed the commons to breach the long corridor that would lead her to the hatch for the habitation deck, something cold and stark began to probe her from the back of her mind. Something that pulsed like a heartbeat... one that got louder and more insistent, one that vied for her attention. So palpable it could nearly tap her on the shoulder.

He hadn't been entirely truthful. He was still mad at her. It didn't have anything to do with his state of incarceration... but there was something. Something he was stewing on, something he still didn't want to talk about. But that wasn't all of it.

She stopped abruptly and twisted at the waist, half expecting to turn and see him standing there behind her outside of his prison cell again, finger raised and poised to start a new argument. The feeling was so visceral she was shocked that no one was there at all, almost if she was being haunted by a desert spirit - the kind the sand dwellers used to tell tales of in the taverns of Niima Outpost, late at night and deep into their cups. A chill crept over her, chasing away her previous glow of warmth. It spooked her. But something was there.

Right there. Right there in front of her.

Something cruel and carved from the very ice of outer space.

It was the thing that had awakened Ben Solo from his sleep.

It was black and flat and square, and anyone else would have missed it lying there in the dark on the table.

But it called out to her, the same as it called to him. It wouldn't rest until its presence was known, until its purpose had been fulfilled.

It was the datapad bequeathed to them by Snoke's Navigators, and it had something to say. But what was it? Who did it belong to? And even more importantly, why did it plague them so?

 _You must face your fears_ , those ghoulish, infernal beings had said. _You must make a choice._

What did that mean, exactly?

How much worse was this going to get?

* * *

The shower Moff Reardon had taken was hotter than anything he could squeeze out of the pipes on Hoth, but it still didn't scald him enough to sear away the stain... the contamination, the things he now knew. He was marked by it, and would carry that blot with him wherever he went and in everything he did. It was the leverage his Supreme Leader would use to hold his entire life in check, ensuring he was perfectly complicit in his every whim and fancy. The information was his prison now. It was the leash strapped to his throat. Because if anything fell out of line... if that leash for a single moment grew taut... Hux would know who was at the other end. And thus he held his sway.

The cold tiles beneath his bare feet made him homesick, although he could never have paced the floor like this on Hoth without his house shoes, the ones lined with tauntaun fur. Although every so often, he'd relished the feel of sinking his bare toes into the plush mat of his thick wampa skin rug. He wished he had either of those things now, a little piece of home. He'd never intended to be away this long. This was supposed to be a project, nothing more.

Now it would be the rest of his life.

He stopped at his writing desk, near the wall. Collapsing into its seat, he plopped an elbow onto its surface and mashed his throbbing forehead into his hand, threading damp hair through his fingers. His other hand reached for the decanter of minty green colored seagrape brandy. He filled a snifter with roughly two fingers depth and swished it lazily before taking a drink. While the finish was light and sweet and floral, the bite the liquor held at the front was enough to shoot straight up his nose and put water in his eyes. It was exactly the kind of punishment he was looking for - the kind that would dull his senses and numb his nerves. Strip away any feeling of anything. Like paint thinner.

He drained the glass in two giant gulps and pounded his fist against his chest to beat the fire back down where it belonged. But as he reached for the decanter to pour himself a second round, he heard a knock at his door. Less a knock, he supposed, and more the light rapping of knuckles against the thin, practical divide between his spartan quarters and the halls outside. Uncertain he'd actually heard the noise, thinking it perhaps a trick of his overburdened imagination, he rose to his feet but grew still to better listen.

And moments later, it came again.

As if the person outside wished to draw as little attention as possible. Quiet as a quar rat. His neighbors might otherwise have heard the trill of his door chime.

Feeling his bravery on the day was earned, as if nothing else could be worse than what he'd already experienced, he took a chance and crossed the room, and braced himself as he opened the door.

To find Lieutenant Allerset on the other side, nothing short of an absolute vision.

She was the complete opposite of her normal self and impossibly even more lovely - gone were the crisp, clean hemlines of her perfectly kempt service uniform, having been replaced by a long, dark blue dressing gown that regretfully obscured her shapely, womanly build. Her hair broke with regulations, having been released from the tight confines of her usual up-do, allowed to flow and sweep below her collar and around her shoulders as she whipped her head from left to right to scope the corridors behind her, scouting for passing witnesses. Her hair was the color of spun gold, a gilded mane of loose waves and ringlets.

Sensing the pressing need for discretion, he quickly ushered her inside and closed the door behind her.

But upon entering, she withdrew upon herself and wrapped her arms tightly around her body. She grew quiet, but the prescient kind of quiet that builds before a storm. Their whole world was like that now. Reardon himself felt it weighing on him, this crushing apprehension that an age of catastrophe was at hand, and they were the only two people in the whole of the universe who knew... and they were helpless to keep it from happening. But then she finally turned to face him. Slowly, with a sigh.

"So, you know now," was her beginning.

"You've known all along," he answered her.

"I was there from the start. I am the one who found it, there in that ruin. I am the one who detected it - I am the one who showed him where to look. And I am the one who fed him his first victim."

"Jenson."

"Jenson," she repeated the dead man's name.

"You're not the one who murdered him," he told her, but she only shook her head.

"It could just as easily have been me. It's only by chance that it wasn't. His only crime was that he asked the questions I, myself, would have wanted to ask but... I lacked the courage."

"You didn't lack courage - you had wisdom. You're an officer," he told her, cautiously closing the distance between them, hoping his proximity would lend her comfort instead of making her uneasy. "And a practiced professional, peerless without regard. You would never have done something so careless as to have questioned your superior. At least..." He towered over her, so close he could smell her, like fresh air on a field of wild flowers. Her eyes were wide and pale, the color of sea ice. "At least, not in private."

She dropped her hands to her sides, she raised her chin and squared her shoulders.

"I can't imagine the questions you must have."

"I think you can. Probably better than anyone."

"I've... I've come to ask you about what you saw. I want to know what you're thinking."

It seemed an innocent question but it struck him odd, before even considering he hadn't yet, himself, begun to gather his own thoughts on the matter. What was she really asking him to say? And why? Why was she here? In this state?

He desperately wanted to put his trust in her. It had been so long since he'd last enjoyed the closely shared confidence of a friendship or an intimate relationship, nevermind how long it'd been since he'd last savored the smooth, warm contact of skin on skin, or hushed whispers across islands of pillows in a sea of sated afterglow. But did this make him seem weak?

Did it make him a target?

Was she here to... spy?

Was she trying to find a common bond, and lighten the burden she'd carried alone for all this time? Or was she sent to investigate? Interrogate? Could he be candid, or would she report her findings?

Or... was she trying to appeal to him as an engineer? As a man of science and rationale? Was she trying to find out if he had some sort of plan of action? Would she want some part of it? Was she looking for a co-conspirator? Some sort of escape?

But what could they do?

"I guess I'm, uh...um..." he stammered, mentally weighing his options. He remembered his manners and stepped away from her, sidling his way back to the writing desk. "Would... would you like a drink?" He'd already drawn another snifter from its leather case and set it down next to his. But as he reached for the decanter to pour her a polite dram of brandy, he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned to find her staring at him as she loosened the tie at her waist.

The long trim of her gown fell away to expose one pink nipple, where it adorned the sweet swell of her fair breast. She rolled her other shoulder and the garment fell away completely. His eyes feasted upon her every inch of skin, all the way down to the soft mound of hair between her legs. And every drop of liquor he'd consumed went straight to his brain.

With a start she approached him and firmly laid a hand upon his shoulder. He managed to set the decanter safely on the desk before he fell backwards into the chair. Before he could even wriggle himself more upright she was on top of him, straddling him, grinding against the hard length of him where the fabric of his own robe, and the shorts beneath it, grew hot with friction. He reached down to pull himself out, but she rose up to dangle a nipple at his lips, which he took as eagerly as a suckling babe. She faintly moaned as he rolled his tongue around it inside his mouth. One hand massaged her other breast while the fingers of his other hand were sent wandering until they roamed their way past the lips of her vagina. Once inside her, they grew hot and slick and wet, and her breath came in short gasps in his ear.

She reached down and pulled the tie on his robe. She fiddled around until she found the head of his penis, having grown so erect it had begun to peek above the waist of his shorts. He sucked in a quick breath when the cold air of the room met the fluid that was already starting to leak from it. She quickly warmed him, however, by stroking a palm delightfully all the way down his shaft before pulling back to the top again.

After several repeated iterations of the motion he'd had all he could take. He picked her up like a loose sack of vegetables and threw her down on his bed with a bounce. He climbed atop her and was inside her as fast as a starving man could devour his first meal. And as they moved together, she was careful to keep her face pressed tightly into the crook of his neck to keep from making too much noise.

And when they were done, still sweating and panting, still pulsing with the final spasms of their shared climax, he finally felt himself relax. He smiled and laughed with more than a little surprise at the strange and unexpected circumstances he'd found himself in.

But he still hadn't answered her question.

And he wasn't relaxed enough to let his guard down.

But then she laughed too. Just the wisp of a thing, the fruit born from a much needed conjugal catharsis.

"I'm sorry if I was a bit forward," she sighed. "It's just..." She brought up one bent knee and let it sway back and forth as she pushed her tousled hair away from her face. "I suppose this is sort of a bad habit for me, I... I have a tendency to seek... physical comfort. In times of stress."

But then the glow faded from her, as if someone had turned off a light. Clearly darkened by her thoughts, she turned her eyes away from him to keep them to herself.

"You've dealt with this for far too long, all alone," he told her, turning onto his side to place a gentle kiss on her shoulder. The chill in the room was turning the heat in her skin to ice.

"And now we're in this together," she answered, her gaze still distant, on the other side of the galaxy. "I'm not sure yet, which I prefer."

"I understand," he said to her in honesty and sincerity, because no one else but a man from Hoth truly could. "I too live best in solitude. I forget, sometimes... how much easier things can be when there's someone else there beside you. I have a solid team, amazing for such an undesirable post, but... it's not the same.

"It's not the same as having a source of strength. A touchstone."

"Hmm," she hummed and smiled. "You do make it sound nice."

"I'm surprised you haven't arranged a marriage."

"Hah," she laughed again. "I guess I've always been too focused on my career. Plus..." And just like that, the smile once again disappeared. "I'm not terribly certain I want to put a child into... this system."

Whatever her eyes were seeking, so many fathoms deep into the endless abyss of space beyond the two of them... she wasn't finding it. Something like weariness or a heavy sadness drew her eyelids closed. Reardon took advantage of his considerable reach and stretched across her to grab the edge of the blanket pull it over her body. She curled herself against him and tucked her head under his chin, draping an arm across his waist.

"That's a fair point," he muttered into her hair. "At least you were moving forward. I was a coward. I was so afraid that real responsibility was going to get me killed that I convinced myself I was happy living on the worst planet in the whole universe. I guess I didn't exactly feel it was terribly fair to bring a wife and children to a place like that, either."

"I suppose not."

"But now look what's happened. I came here. To the flagship. I became the Head of Research and Development for the entire First Order. And immediately the very first thing I did was design a nearly perfect superweapon for a madman with an even more terrifying Sith artifact."

"Hmm," she mused. "These are interesting times, aren't they?"

"Indeed."

"You know? The way it feels? It feels like we're waiting for everything to fall apart, and hoping we'll survive."

"It does."

"It's like," she perched her chin on his chest and looked up at him. "It's like the Order is one giant missile, a ground-to-air missile. And we're all flying high into the air, higher and higher over the top of everything else. Everyone is looking up at us, and we're up there, looking down on everything. But as it rises, it burns all the fuel away from underneath it, so when it finally reaches the top - when it finally reaches its greatest height... there's nothing left to keep it there. Hux will have his Engine but... it will be at the expense of his Order."

"It's worse than that... he no longer _needs_ his Order. What will happen when he finally realizes that?"

"It would seem he already has. We're just meat to him. Just... fuel."

"Just fuel," Reardon whispered back at her morosely, nuzzling his nose into the feathery down of her hair. "Nothing more. You watched the Engine eat Lieutenant Jenson. Didn't you."

"Yes," she replied, idly tracing her fingers up his side. She licked her lips to wet them. "But I wasn't the only one."

"Wh... what?"

There was... someone else? Other than them?

She crossed both of her arms over his chest and leaned forward where he was finally able to catch a devious glint sparkle in her eyes.

"I was in charge of remanding him to the mortuary. I had a small staff of troops to assist me in his transport and in cataloging his field kit and his belongings. When the others had left, there was one who had remained behind. She wasn't feeling well, so she'd stepped into the antechamber to catch her breath. And that's when the General had come to... well, you know what he did.

"In my own shock, I had forgotten the soldier was there, had forgotten her designation, even. But I found her later." The fervor that had set a crease in her brow was starting to make him nervous. What was she saying? It almost seemed to border on impiety. He was starting to feel less like sex object and more like an accomplice in something... illicit and criminal. "I found her away from her post. She was trying to defect."

"Woah! What?!"

He sat up straight with a start. Instead of falling over, she pulled away from him, kneeling on her knees on the mattress. One finger she brought to her lips while her other hand reached for him.

"Shh! Be quiet, you'll -"

But it was too late. His fears had yanked him into action. He pushed his way past her and out into the room, the cold making him aware of his nakedness down to the frigid tiles beneath his pacing feet. He glanced about the room furtively, searching in vain for hidden cameras or listening devices. His paranoia was dragging him over the edge into sheer lunacy.

"Come back here," she called for him with a hiss.

"But what if - what if they're -"

"Don't be stupid! Do you want to be in this together or not?! Come back here! You need to know this! It may be our only hope!"

It was too late. He was in it the moment he left Hoth. He was in it up to his neck. There was nowhere left to go now, except up and up and up with that rocket. She had the blanket over her lap but the tangles in her hair danced across her bare breasts, and that bed was massively more inviting than standing naked in the middle of a freezing room. With only mild reluctance, he crawled back under the blankets next to her.

"Do you remember the designation of the man you watched him kill?" she asked him once he was beside her.

"I do," he confessed warily. "AJ-4318, with the Ninth Imperial."

"Yes. The Ninth Imperial. Do you know why he was executed?"

"I didn't even know he was a prisoner until after his body was on the floor."

"He was one of my soldier's commanding officers. I held on to the secret as long as I could, but eventually I had to report her. It was only a matter of time before someone else found out, and if he'd heard it from anyone other than me, then I myself would have come under suspicion, so I did the best thing I could think of and -"

"Wait, wait. Wait. Are you..." He would have been lightheaded if he hadn't already been lying down. "Are you saying wh... what I think you're saying?"

"I am," she confided in him. "I helped her."

"Have you lost your mind?!" The breath just left him. There was nowhere in the galaxy far enough to run. "Do you have any idea the risk you've put yourself in? I've -"

"I assure you, Moff Reardon," she scolded him in a level tone, "I'm acutely aware of _all_ of the risks. I know exactly what I've done. And I'd do it again. A thousand times. That soldier..." She swallowed hard and rolled away from him, once again gripping her own body tightly with her arms. "She was pregnant. I understand that men have died because of my treason. But I did it to save an innocent baby."

And suddenly everything came into focus. Like he was seeing everything clearly for the first time. It wasn't just the penumbra of death that bound them together. It wasn't just the crushing threat of insanity, it wasn't just the promise of needless, gratuitous violence that would drive them past their breaking points. It was these things. These little things, these normal, mundane things. These things that people were supposed to have in life... things that they both denied themselves, having relinquished any prayer that life for them would ever be so normal. They both had their toes up to the line - the divide between living and existing. They were both holding hands to see who would step across first with the hope that the other would follow.

"I see," he told her softly, drawing her back to him to spoon himself against her. "I understand. But what will happen when he tracks their ship?"

"They didn't take a First Order ship," she answered him, yet not forthcoming with any additional details. "He'll never find her. But I know where she's gone."

"You don't think plausible deniability is the better part of valor in this case?"

"Hmhmm," she laughed, rolling over and winding a hand around his waist. "She's gone to the Resistance."

"The Resistance?" he quipped with incredulity, but she raised her eyebrows and tipped her head toward him in an effort to put greater emphasis on what she'd just told him, requesting that he think the statement through from start to finish. Which meant...

"Which means she's taken our secret with her. And when she reaches them..."

"Then they'll know," she supplied the rest. "But that's not the only weapon they'll have."

"You..." he reached up and rubbed an eye, exhaustion beginning to eat away at his sense of humor. "You don't really think they can help us, do you? Or do anything at all? They can't even help themselves. This war is all but over. I mean... their fleet is nothing more than tatters after Crait."

"They still have something we don't."

"Okay, yes, they've got that Jedi girl, I guess. The one Kylo Ren was so bent over."

"Yes." Her grin was devilish and feral.

"Okay, fine, they've got, like, _one_ ship and one Jedi girl. Assuming they wouldn't laugh in our faces at the very mention of helping us, I still don't see how they could possibly do it."

"Well," she replied, rolling onto her back and dragging a hand across her forehead, "they're on the outside. They have ties still with the New Republic through governmental law and commercial trade."

"But wasn't General Organa considered to be a warmongering outcast across... whatever they have in place of their executive branch?"

"Yes, and... she's also dead, but they still have influence. Not all of the galaxy is so eager to capitulate to our show of force. And the Engine itself has done quite a bit to turn the galactic economy on it's head. With their need to continue purchasing ships and guns the old, traditional way, it's increasingly more likely that they'll have greater success bending ears and seeking favor with some very powerful people. I promise you, Moff Reardon... the Resistance has a lot more in their pocket than one ship, one Jedi girl, and one dangerous secret."

"I still think we need a miracle."

"Maybe they have that, too."

"Hmph," his chest bounced with the strength of his exhale, "you're starting to sound like them now."

"No, listen - there's something else."

"There's more?" He pressed his lips to her shoulder again. "You're like a pretty little puzzle box of secrets, aren't you?"

"Only as a matter of survival." She rolled onto her side to face him, and propped her head up under her elbow. "General Hux used to head the finance committee that balanced the ledgers for Supreme Leader Snoke, before he died. But Hux hates bookkeeping, he's a man of military tactics and strategy - he prefers maps and machines to datapads and numbers."

"Yes, that sounds like him."

"So, since his... promotion, those tasks have been relegated to me."

"He keeps you very busy, doesn't he."

"He thinks busy girls are too busy for sedition."

Reardon quirked a smile and caressed the apple of her right cheek with his thumb.

"He clearly knows less about women than I do. Which is a rare feat."

"Oh, you shouldn't be so hard on yourself," she smiled. "You gave me a lovely orgasm. But I noticed something as I was going through the numbers again. I noticed an unpaid balance."

"I imagine we're about to have a lot of those."

"Yes, but this one was to a Mandalorian clan."

What would the First Order want with Mandalorians? While it was true, they were largely free agents since their falling out with the Empire of old, Reardon didn't think anyone would begrudge them their biases. And he hardly believed them so naive that they wouldn't recognize the obvious familial relation between the Empire and their First Order. The bounty must have been high profile, the fee too outrageous to resist. The numeric anomaly must have jumped off the page at her.

"What would the Order need with Mandalorians?"

"That's what I couldn't understand, either," she replied. "So, I did what any bookkeeper would do."

"You didn't."

"I did. The contact information was right there in the open, it was nothing Hux was trying to keep covert, so I had to assume this was a task was left to me to complete. And I wouldn't dare disappoint my Supreme Leader. So I called her... their matriarch."

"You spoke to their matriarch."

"I did. And do you know what she told me?"

"I cannot begin to guess."

She bit her lip as she smiled and tossed a leg over his, pulling him flush against her where once more he could feel the soft hair beneath the blanket rub up against him. She kissed him and her breath was warm against his face as she spoke.

"She'd been hired to assassinate Kylo Ren. But someone else had made her a better offer."

"How is that possible? Credits are meaningless to Hux now - he could have thrown our whole coffer at her..."

"We are massively in debt, Reardon. Our coffers are empty. Hux made a last ditch effort for that Engine to keep us from becoming a conglomerate corporate entity. He did it to keep us from being bought and sold. Someone could have offered her a pittance and she'd have made a better deal."

"Did she say who?"

"Not without a price, but I have my suspicions. After all, the Resistance took him when he crashed on Prakith."

"Are you suggesting... the Resistance made her a better deal? With their one ship and their one Jedi girl?"

"Haven't you been listening?" she chastised him, pushing against his chest to lean back on her elbow again. "They are not without benefactors, I promise you. They may seem like a money pit to you or me, but trust me - this galaxy is rife with opportunists who would be eager to flip them for a profit. Namely, the same investors who are currently finding their contracts with the First Order in breach."

"So have you told him yet?" he asked with a jerk of his head. "That his bounty is off? Or are you keeping this a secret now, too?"

"I will for as long as I can," she said, chewing her thumbnail. "But just like with any other secret, I won't be able to keep it from him forever. But the longer he remains in the dark, the better lead time they have to gather their strength. After all, they now have one ship, one Jedi girl, a dangerous secret, a large investment opportunity, and... Kylo Ren."

"You really hope the Resistance will defeat us?"

"They will never defeat us," she surprised him by saying. "Hux will have the Terminal Meridian around Bespin's star so fast they'll never keep up, and then he'll move on to the next star. But they don't have to defeat us. They only have to defeat Hux. And that is what I want to help them do. What comes after that... comes after. But for now, stopping Hux is this galaxy's top priority."

And lying there, baking in her heat and spellbound by the silk of her body, Moff Reardon found he couldn't disagree. He knew she was right. And that he was with her.

"Alright then," he nodded as he agreed. "You're right. I'm in."


End file.
